


The Land of Milk and Honey

by sirachamuchacha



Series: The Land of Milk and Honey [1]
Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Also this is the first fic I've ever written since I was 12, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - No Zombies, Angst, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, I'm no good at planning so please take this all with a grain of salt, M/M, Negan is also a college drop out, Negan is an aspiring musician, Recreational Drug Use, Rick is studying to become a speech language pathologist, This may be a ficlet, This may be a full-on twenty plus chaptered thing, who knows - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-13
Updated: 2017-06-22
Packaged: 2018-09-22 23:43:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 100,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9630170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sirachamuchacha/pseuds/sirachamuchacha
Summary: It's Austin, Texas in the Spring. Rick is young, but he feels old. His girl left him for his best friend (his ONLY friend), and his roommate for that matter. That's no good.Negan loves music and everything honest about it. It's the only thing he's sort of good at, it's the only thing he can bring himself to care about. Everything else, well, that's to be decided at a later time.ORRick needs a new place to live, and when he finds it, he doesn't figure out his new roommate is an asshole who likes to play guitar until he figures out his new roommate is an asshole who likes to play guitar.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title of this work is from the song 'Why's It So Hard?' by Charles Bradley, if you are interested. Thanks for reading! Feedback and constructive criticism are very, very welcome.

 

With a sigh and a routine hand, Rick unlocked the door to his apartment. He placed his book bag on the floor underneath the coat hanger, like any other day.

Shane wasn’t home, there was no raucous, no greeting of “Hey brother, this” or “Hey brother, that”.

Nothing.

Nothing but the sound of his footsteps against the creaky old floor as he made his way to his room. He doesn’t want to be here, not anymore. Not with Shane.

A tiny voice in his head asks him if he even wanted to be here in the first place. He knows the answer is no.

Rick pushes those thoughts away as he strips himself of his shirt, and collapses onto his bed. He feels hot and strained, like the breath expanding his lungs might make his chest explode if he doesn't settle down. He lets the cool air around him touch his exposed flesh. He feels his body react to it, the goosebumps and the hardening of his nipples. It does nothing but make him shiver. It does nothing to distract him from his problems.

Lori is cheating on him. With Shane. With his best fucking friend.

Rick feels a dry sob wrack his body. His face contorts with the will to cry, but he doesn’t allow himself that much.

Why should he? He’s known all along. He’s the one who let this turn into something it never had to be. He could’ve confronted Lori. Or Shane. He could’ve asked Lori what he did wrong. He could’ve asked why he wasn’t enough for her, and he could’ve gotten an answer and they could’ve rebuilt everything from there. But he let it play out. He ignored all the little ways Lori had changed. From how she kissed, to how she held his hand, to how she was in bed. She even started talking differently, using words he’d only heard Shane use, and adding bite to her tone.

He could’ve stopped this all from happening. He could’ve prevented this pain.

In an attempt to pull himself together, Rick sat up, the mattress groaning under his weight. He ran his fingers through his hair, let them linger in the curls at the nape of his neck, then got to his feet.

Suddenly, as he looked around his room, everything that reminded him of Lori stood out, staring at him with sorry eyes. The tube of lipstick she’d left on his desk, her petite, bright colored clothing laying used in his dirty clothes hamper, her favorite coffee mug perched carefully on the nightstand from just last night when they had decided to have a study session; all of it serving him piping hot pity.

And didn’t that piss him off.

Rick didn’t need pity, and he sure as hell didn’t _want_ any pity. Any pity he got he wanted to bag it up and ship it across the coast. So he did just that- minus the shipping part. He grabbed an empty trash bag from the cabinets under the kitchen sink, and got to devoiding his room of everything that reminded him of Lori. And when he was done with that, he saw how the bag wasn’t even half full, and he thought that maybe Lori was never really his despite the years they’d spent together. He figured there should’ve been more evidence of their relationship than just a couple t shirts,some sweatpants, a tube of lipstick, a mug, and some polaroid pictures.

But he pushed that thought away and instead, grabbed another bag, and started getting rid of everything that reminded him of Shane. This time, there was a lot more stuff, even though Rick had known Lori longer than he had ever known Shane. Shane had only been his roommate for one fucking semester, that’s it. He and Lori had been together for three damned years.

Rick tied off the bag and tossed it to the side, right next to Lori’s, and as he did that, a steady knock sounded from the door. He only knew two people in Austin well enough for them to know where he lived, and as he put on a shirt and made his way to his visitor, his heart pounded, not ready to face either option.

He gave himself a second, took a deep breath, and wiped his face clean of any emotion, and then opened the door.

It was Lori, standing outside with the cold winds blowing her brown hair gently every which way, and her big doe eyes boring into Rick’s like her life depended on it. The sight made his stomach flip in a dreadful way.

He felt his jaw tighten, and then he said, boringly,“What?”

“Rick,” Lori said, a slight plead to her voice,”C’mon, don’t do this.”

‘ _Don't do this?’_ Rick thought. He rolled his eyes, he couldn't _believe_ her, and turned back into his apartment, making his way back to his room. Lori followed suit, closing the door behind her.

“We have to talk about this, Rick.”

Rick stopped in his tracks, face disbelieving, and turned to meet her eyes,”And what is there to say exactly? I knew it, Lori. I knew all about it.” His tone leaked something cold and bitter. He searched Lori’s eyes, hoping to see something he recognized, something that could tell him what he wanted to hear, but he knew it wouldn't be there. It hadn't been there for a while.

“But you have to know why! You have to know why I did it!” She was yelling now, not angry, just frustrated.

Rick remained silent, looking at her from the opposite side of the room. He felt something hot boil in his stomach. His face and body tingled numbly, like he was a cauterized nerve. When she realized he wasn't going to speak, she continued.

“We were gonna tell you, Rick. Shane and I-” Rick couldn't bear to hear it, his name on her tongue. She said it now with a hint of something. A sweet, loving, subconscious lilt, like her brain smiled when she said his name. Something that was once reserved for him.

“Do me a favor, Lori, and don't..” She looked at him with her mouth slightly open, taken aback by the firmness in his tone.

His face hardened.“Please. Don't tell me your reasons when we both know you're not doing it to benefit me, or console me, or whatever you think it might do. We both know you're just doing this for yourself,” he ended that sentence by handing her the sorry looking bag full of her belongings. He tried not to feel embarrassed at what it symbolized between the two of them. “Here's your stuff...Maybe you left a couple things in Shane's room, feel free to grab those, too.”

Her eyes narrowed at that, and her slightly opened mouth let out a scoffof indignation before she snatched the bag from his hands. She peeked inside, glancing at the bags contents, before sighing and looking up at him. She shook her head, like Rick was being unreasonable. Maybe he was, but he couldn't find it in himself to care.

Rick watched as her gaze landed on the other tied off trash bag slumped across his floor, and then to his nearly barren room. He watched as she put two and two together, and looked back at him. Her face had gone soft, her eyes apologetic.

“We were gonna tell you, Rick. We just didn’t know when. Or how,” Her tone was gentle, trying not to stir him away.

 He couldn't muster up the energy to look her in the eyes, so he looked to his beat up shoes instead. He needed a new pair.“You don’t have to worry about that now.”

They both were silent for a while. Then Lori sat on Rick’s bed with her hands burrowed in her lap. It was an attempt to make things casual, but she sure looked stiff doing it. Rick wanted to tell her to leave, but he didn’t.

“Your room,” she started, a pained smile stretching her lips,”it looks too empty.” Rick sighed. He was growing restless.

“Yeah, well, I don’t exactly plan on staying here,” he said, and if she hadn’t understood what Rick meant by that, he added,”I’m looking for a new place before the Spring Semester starts.”

Lori said nothing to that, and a heavy silence fell between them.

“You going back home for the holidays?” She asked, moments later. He almost wanted to laugh at the question, at how she was trying so hard to make things feel normal.

But he just nodded.

Holiday break started in two days.

“I think you should go now.”

-

 

Rick was walking home from his night class when he met Maggie. It was almost 8:30, and the Texas sun had been long gone for a few hours. The sky was a dark navy, and as he made his way off campus, the only light he traveled with was the dim moon, and the occasional street light. Normally, his mind would travel towards all the dark, twisted ways he could be murdered or mugged or kidnapped on his way home, but he needed to catch the student shuttle before it left without him.

He’d been living with his cousin, Louie, who was a couple years older than him, and Louie’s younger friend Daryl, after he had reluctantly informed his parents of his and Lori’s break-up, and the cause of said break-up. His parents, naturally, told his Uncles and Aunts, seeing as it was the holiday’s and there was a surplus of alcohol in every household, and what could you really do at family events other than get drunk and talk out of your ass? Eventually, those Uncles and Aunts told their kids, and Louie, the only cousin old enough to be on his own, and who just so happened to be renting a run down, two bedroom, one bath house in Austin, insisted it would be no problem if Rick were to crash at his place for as long as he needed, no charge.

Rick, too polite and desperate to say no, and perhaps just a _little_ drunk, took him up on that offer. And here he is now, nearly two months into his Spring Semester, and while he tries his best to be as inconspicuous as one can when they’re living with someone as a guest, he can’t help but feel like he’s overstaying his welcome.

He's almost at his stop when the sound of someone’s rushing feet against the sidewalk snaps him out of his thoughts.

“Hey!” A female voice with a southern twang yells out, stopping Rick in his tracks.”Hey, buddy, wait up!”

Rick turns around, brows furrowed. He doesn’t recognize the voice, but he knows the girl, he just saw her in class a few minutes ago. She’s got brown hair, cut short and androgynous, long limbs, and a friendly smile on her face. But as she gets closer, he notes that her eyes seem blank, almost fearful.

Just when he thought things couldn’t get any more puzzling, the girl pulls him into a friendly hug. Rick stands there, arms to his sides and stammers out an “Uh-” as her arms come around his neck. Then her mouth comes nearer to his ear and she says, steady and serious,”There’s a guy. He’s been following me for about three blocks. He’s hiding behind the bushes near the trashcan. Don’t look, keep walking with me.”

The girl pulls away, looking him in the eyes for a second, before she links their arms and leads them forward. Rick walks with her, choosing to believe she’s telling the truth.

When she begins to turn a corner that’s not apart of his path, he stops walking, making the girl stop as well.

“I don’t know who you are,” Rick says lamely.

The girl looks at her surroundings, a slight panic visible in her eyes. Then she says, quietly,”Look, I’m Maggie Greene, you’re Rick Grimes. I have you for Anatomy, and I need you to walk with me, okay? I don’t feel safe.”

When he just stares at her, she tags on an earnest, “ _Please._ ” Rick gives in with a hesitant sigh, links his arm with Maggie’s and lets her lead the way. He’ll be missing his shuttle today. She gives him a small, thankful smile in return.

“Where am I taking you?” He asks, after some time has passed, and Maggie has calmed down considerably.

“My boyfriend’s apartment. It’s just a couple blocks from here.”

Rick nods, trying to ignore the small disappointment he felt at the word boyfriend. Just his luck.

She stayed with her head turned towards him, her mossy eyes fixed steadily on the side of his face.“Thank you for this, Rick."

Rick gave a nod of his head to acknowledge her words, then quickly realized, ”How do you know my name?”

Maggie noticed his widening eyes and how he sort of stiffened. She gave him an amused smile,"The roster list. Greene and Grimes are right next to each other, y’know.”

Rick felt his mouth twitch with a bashful smile, but her answer gave him a sense of relief, nonetheless. “Oh.”

They walked in comfortable silence just a few minutes longer, until Maggie stopped in front of one of many doors in a small apartment complex. In the quiet of the night, when Rick blocked out the sound of Maggie rummaging through her bag for what he assumed must be a key or a card, he swore he could hear the muffled sound of music. Must of been a band nearby playing a show on the grass or something. It was Austin, after all.

“God dammit,” Maggie cursed, catching the attention of the man who stood next to her, "I forgot my damn key.”

He watched as Maggie pounded on the wooden door with her fist, hard enough he thought the girl might wince or cry out in pain, but she was unphased, as if she knocked on every door like that. Rick wondered why she was knocking so hard. He also wondered why he was still standing there when he ought to be making his way back home, but Maggie wasn’t telling him to leave, and he wanted to see what this _boyfriend_ looked like.

The answer to the former question was answered when the door swung open, and the small murmur of music Rick heard from before all but assaulted his ears, the solid piece of wood no longer there to soak up most of the sound.

Also behind the door was an Asian guy just a little younger than Rick, with sparse facial hair. He looked semi-annoyed when he opened the door, but when his eyes landed on Maggie, those feelings were completely overlooked, and his face flooded with joy.

“Maggie!” The boy spoke over what Rick now recognized as an old Led Zeppelin tune.”It was getting late, I didn’t think you’d show.”

By the look on the boy’s face, he could tell that the two either barely started dating and were still in the honeymoon phase, or he was just completely gone over Maggie. Either option seemed plausible.

Maggie however, had her arms crossed over her chest, her hip stuck out in a defiant stance, and an annoyed look on her face. “Get out here!” She yelled to the boy who was still giving her googly eyes and standing in front of the open door as if he had no eardrums to worry about damaging.

“What?” The boy yelled, tilting his ear towards her with a lost look on his face.

“Get out here, Glenn!” She yelled once again, this time louder.

So that's his name.

Glenn quickly complied, shutting the door behind him and stepping out onto the small porch between Maggie and Rick. The music was back to a tiny murmur.

“Oh- uh, who’s this?” He said, finally noticing Rick. He had an eyebrow raised in confusion, but his tone was amicable and his face read friendly.

“This is Rick, he’s in my Anatomy class.” The girl’s annoyance faded at the reminder of why Rick was here, her voice taking on a solemn tone instead,”Some creep was following me, so I asked Rick to walk me here.”

“What?” A crease formed between Glenn’s brow, and his gaze switches from Maggie to Rick frantically before finally landing on Maggie again.”You’re okay, right? Nothing happened?” Rick finds it a little funny just how comical this guy is. He thinks Maggie does too, because she lets a small laugh escape from the grin that’s found it’s way onto her mouth.

“I’m right here aren’t I? Of course I’m fine.” She looks past her boyfriend’s shoulder, over at Rick who’s standing there quietly, bearing witness to all this.”Thanks to Rick over there.”

Glenn turns to face him, his face soft with relief and a kind smile. He sticks out his fist, a modern sign of gratitude.”Thanks man, I really owe you one.”

Rick doesn’t think he’s ever heard anyone sound more sincere. He bumps his fist on Glenn’s, feeling something akin to shame when he realizes just five minutes ago, he’d began to already build a disliking towards this guy, just because he was Maggie’s boyfriend. ”It's no problem, really.”

There was a brief silence between the three of them while they shared their moment, and Rick didn’t even realize the music was gone until it starts back up again, this time louder, if that’s even possible.

Maggie huffed, all her annoyance slipping right back into her body, crossed arms and all. She turned to Glenn who had a small look of impatience on his face, obviously fed up with the music just as much as Maggie was.

“You can’t tell him to turn it down?” Her eyes bore into Glenn’s, a single eyebrow arched high with attitude. Glenn sighed, ran his hands through his short, black hair."Three times. I asked him to turn it down _three times_ .” To emphasize this, he turned his face to Rick, eyes wide with frustration and his voice shrill and stretched. " _Three times_!” Rick actually heard himself let out a small chuckle. Glenn laughed with him too, though his laugh was a little more strung out.

As if on cue, the music stopped and all fell silent except for the sound of muffled footsteps behind the door. The three of them looked at each other wordlessly, amusement in their eyes. Then the door was opening, the sound of it squeaking on it’s hinges making them avert their gaze.

Standing in the doorway was a willowy man. He has big, dark eyes that seem to be rimmed in smudged black kohl - Rick didn’t know guyliner was still a thing- and dark hair to match. His voice is bright and smug, like the gleeful smirk on his face.

 

“What, are you guys throwing a party out here or somethin'?”

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

The three of them stare at the man in the doorway. Maggie with the look of a mother who’s just not having it, Glenn with a tired numbness, and Rick with a confused fascination.

The man is still smiling, his big, white teeth on careful display. His eyes land on Rick for just a second, then back to Glenn and Maggie. “Seriously, ‘cuz if you are, it may just be the _saddest_ , _lamest_ party I’ve ever fucking seen!” He puts a slow emphasis on his words, and his face moves a lot when he talks. Rick thinks it’s kind of annoying.

Maggie rolls her eyes. “Shut up, Negan.”

What kind of a name is Negan?

This Negan finds no offense in Maggie’s words, in fact, he seems to find them funny. His eyebrows raise in amusement, eyes widening in the process. His skin is sunkissed tan and seething pride. “Woah, there, Maggie! Good fucking evening to you, too.” He turns to Glenn, a calm lilt in his stance. “Why don’t you tell your lady to contain herself, Glenny boy? I can feel the sexual tension coming off her in _God damn_ rays! Hot like the fucking sun! I think she wants me.”

Glenn shoots him a hot glare, clearly not finding any of this as funny as Negan is. “Shut up, Negan.”

The willowy man actually chuckles, like he’s been having a warm conversation with his Grandmother.

Then his gaze turns to Rick, strands of dark, stringy hair framing his eyes and temples in an outdated 90s curtain fashion. ”You guys gonna introduce me to your friend?”

All attention turns to Rick, but he feels Negan’s sight on him more than the others. Glenn and Maggie just shoot him an apologetic look. “This is Rick.” Glenn tells him bluntly. There’s a bored look on his face. “He walked Maggie home.”

Negan raises an eyebrow, a signal that he’s about to make fun of the situation. “You guys in some sort of a three-way relationship?” Rick notices the man’s tongue, sticking out slightly between his teeth and that godawful smirk.

Maggie gives the guy a pointed look, eyes fierce like daggers. She’s clearly not amused, or intimidated for that matter. Glenn looks like he wants to be somewhere else.

“That’s fine, who am I to fucking judge?” Negan says when no one bothers to entertain his shit talk. “The more the merrier as they say.”

Glenn huffs. “Why does everything have to be a joke with you, Negan? Maggie was being followed. She didn’t feel safe. Rick walked her home. He helped her when she needed help like a good person.” He pronounced his words slow and drawn out, like he was talking to a child.

The taller man took no visible offence to this, though. His grin stayed put on his mouth like it was tattooed there, and he laid his hand on his roommate's shoulder, soft and casual. “Chill out, pal. We both know just how much I love to yank that big ‘ole fuckin’ chain of yours.” Negan actually turns his head and fucking winks at Rick. Then averts his gaze back to the boy under his hand, like nothing. He prayed no one saw his skin flush underneath the weak porch light. “I love it so much I think I might actually shed a tear or two when you leave me in- what is it? A week?”

Glenn nods, giving up any fight he had.

Rick can’t help but perk up a little bit when he hears that, even with all that he’s seen unfold in front of him in the matter of mere minutes.

Leaves in a week, huh?

-

Rick finds out a few days later that the reason for Glenn’s parting with Negan is because he’s shacking up with Maggie.

The three of them have actually become pretty good friends despite the short time knowing each other. He walks Maggie back to Glenn’s whenever they have night classes that give them pretty much the same route home, and Glenn always tries to thank Rick for keeping his girlfriend safe, but Maggie tells him to can it, (“I’m not a weak little bird, Glenn. I got scared like a normal person does every once in awhile, but I can take care of myself.”) and Rick assures him it’s no problem, and that he enjoys the walks. Then they’ll talk some more and then Rick will go, or sometimes Negan pops out from behind the door equipped with smirks and inappropriate remarks and curse words, and they’ll try to humor him for a while until Rick leaves, feeling Negan’s eyes on his back while he goes.

Glenn and Rick are having lunch at a Taco Bell near the campus when Rick tells him he’s interested in the apartment.

It’s a quarter to twelve on a weekday, and things are light. They order their food- which is mostly off of the dollar menu- and sit in a booth in the corner by the window. The afternoon sun shines brightly down on his friend’s timid face, making the reddish tones in his facial hair stand out as if they’re sparkling or something. He was talking to Rick about his love for Sharpie pens and how they just “write so smoothly and make his notes seem so clear and legible” despite his chicken scratch before their food came to their table, but now they’re both pretty much silent, scarfing down their affordable food like college students do.

Glenn’s just about done with his beefy frito burrito when Rick decides to say “I'm thinking about moving in with Negan.”  
His friend looks up at him, eyes wide and staring. There's a smudge of fire sauce on his chin that he can't help but stare at for a second. “Y’know like take your place.”

Glenn wipes his chin and takes a big sip of his Baja blast. “ _You_ want to move in with Negan?”

Rick nods slowly.

He gets a dumb silence in response, and an eyeful of his friend’s bewildered face.

“ _You?_  With _Negan?_ ”

Rick nods again. “Look, I don't have a lot of options here. I don't like mooching off of my cousin any longer than I have to, and I don't get out much. I’m looking for something cheap, you said the rent was cheap, and you’re moving out, so..”

“But with _Negan?_ ” Glenn keeps on saying the guy’s name like it’s a curse. Rick figures that Negan can’t be all that bad. He can be a little rough around the edges from what he’s seen. But Rick also hasn’t seen much of the man other than his appearances from Glenn’s doorway.

“If I could live with a complete stranger in a decent apartment with a rent that I could afford, I would. But I don't know any strangers, and I don't know any other places that can beat that rent.”

“Well, of course you don't know any strangers, that's kind of the whole idea.”

Rick rolls his eyes. “You get what I'm trying to say.”

He watches Glenn’s face as the boy thinks things over in his head. He wonders what this boy could possibly be conjuring up.

In the end, he just ends up unwrapping his next burrito, saying “I gotta tell Maggie about this.” like he just read a crazy headline off the National Inquirer.

-

It’s been exactly a week since Rick and Maggie met that night after Anatomy, and the setting is the same as it had been just seven days ago. It’s a little after 8:30, the sky is thick and navy, and the moonlight is modestly shining down on the Earth. But this time there’s no creepy dude following Maggie- thank God- and Maggie isn’t looking at Rick with huge eyes that are full of fear.

No, this time she’s looking at him like he might be going a little bonkers.

Both her and her boyfriend have been giving him that look ever since that fateful luncheon where Rick brought up to Glenn his interest in moving in with Negan. It’s like they both feel they’ve misjudged Rick, like he might actually not be the person they at first thought he was- whatever that might have consisted of- just because he’s not utterly revolted at the idea of living with Negan. Rick wonders if maybe that should be some sort of warning, but before he can think more on that, Maggie speaks.

They’re just nearing the apartment complex, a block or two away from Glenn and Negan’s.

“So, uh, Glenn has this plan.” She says. Her voice is reluctant and her mouth is twisted up in this interesting sort of smile that makes Rick think she feels silly saying what she’s about to say.”It’s more of a test, really.”

Rick cocks an eyebrow at that, feeling a slightly entertained smirk twitch at the corner of his mouth. “Does he now?”

She nods. “He wants you to be really sure about moving in with Negan before you make any decisions.”

His eyebrow cocks a little higher. “What exactly is this test?”

“Just.. Negan… Asking you some questions. And maybe if you’re lucky he’ll let you get a couple questions in, too.”

“So like an interview?”

“You could say that…”

Rick just lets out a ‘hmph’.

The two of them barely step foot on the porch when the door is flying open, a frantic looking Glenn behind it. His head turns to Maggie, “You told him?” She nods.

“Ok, he’s ready to see you.” Rick ignores how the boy makes this whole thing sound like he’s taking him to meet some infamous Crime Lord, and instead thinks about how this is the first time he’s ever been inside Glenn and Negan’s place.

It’s a lot cleaner then Rick expected, seeing as it’s home to two young men in their early to mid twenties.

It’s a small apartment, and it looks like it’s considerably old. There’s also a lot of color: the more standout objects being red vinyl couches (that look like they could be real sweat milkers in the summer) which are framing a decent sized flat screen that’s perched atop a well stocked, wooden bookshelf. It appears to have been repainted multiple times with different colors of paint showing through in every layer that’s been chipped, giving it a marble effect. There’s also tons of sheer canopy-like drapes with weird patterns on them that are hanging from windows and the ceiling, just snaking every which way.

Rick also notices numerous cardboard boxes, some full and taped, and others still waiting to be stuffed just laying around, probably due to Glenn’s departing.

When he’s back to facing forward, he realizes he’s being led to the kitchen, just one room away from the living area. He sees Negan sitting at a small, circle table with a mildly maniacal grin on his face. In front of him are two beers, one already in the man’s hands, and an empty, untucked seat that he thinks is supposed to act as an invitation to sit down.

Rick looks over to Glenn, who nods towards the chair, confirming what the man had already assumed. Rick takes the seat reluctantly while Glenn and Maggie retire to the living room to give the two some privacy.

Then it’s just Rick and Negan, the latter staring shamelessly at the former while his grin descends into his casual smirk. Rick meets his eyes, and gives him a small smile. He was aiming for friendly, but his tense cheeks make it land more on the nervous side. Negan, for whatever reason, finds this funny. He lets out a small huff of air through his nose and his smirk deepens. That stupid smirk.

A couple more seconds of complete silence and staring pass by before Rick figures he should probably say something.

So he says, straight-faced, “Why are you starin’ at me like that?” That makes the other man sit up a little.

There’s a glimmer in Negan’s eyes that Rick can’t place. “I stare at everyone like this.”  
He adds, “Gonna have to get used to it if you wanna be my roomie, Southern Man.” He’s added a lilt to the end of his sentence, mocking Rick’s accent.

The man laughs at his own quip. Rick’s eyebrow cocks up in confusion.  
“Oh, c’mon! You don’t get it?”  
Negan’s eyes widen incredulously, taking Rick’s silence as a no. “Southern Man… By Neil fucking Young?”

Rick sighs, and the other man’s laughter dies off.

“You’re telling me you don’t fucking know who Neil Young is?”

Silence.

“Harvest? Old Man? Heart of fucking Gold?!”

More silence.

Negan groans, “You’re killing the shit out of me, Rick! Needle and the damage done?! Cinnamon Girl?! Didn’t your parents ever sho-”

Rick rolls his eyes and raises a hand that tells the other man to stop. “I don’t know who Neil Young is, okay? Can you just get to your point already?”

A brief silence falls between them, and Negan uses that time to stare at Rick again like he’s some weird Picasso painting or something. “For you, Rick? I guess I can.” He takes a quick swig of his beer to punctuate his sentence. Rick still has his drink in his hands, untouched.

“I just have a few questions I want to ask you, just so I can get an idea of who the hell you might be.”

“So ask them.” Rick had been up since 6am; it was now nearing ten o'clock at night, and he had an early class in the morning. He really just wanted this to be settled, so he could go tell Louie that he’d be out of his hair.

He thanked his stars when Negan actually took his advice instead of letting out another smart ass remark.

“Tell me, Rick- and be honest here- what kind of music do you listen to?”

Rick paused for a second, mouth slightly opened, waiting to see what exactly the man was getting at.

“Well?” Negan said after Rick’s silence lasted a second too long. “You obviously don’t listen to Neil Young, un-fucking-fortunately. So what do you listen to?”

Rick’s brows furrowed. “I- I don’t really listen to music.”

Negan looks like he’s been struck. “What the fuck? No fucking way…” He seems to roll Rick’s words over in his head. “I guess that makes sense. I mean, you didn’t know who fucking Neil Young was-” And God, how many times is Rick going to hear that name during their conversation.

“Ok, since you threw me a mean ole curveball, why don’t you just tell me your favorite song?”

Rick actually thinks this one over, searching his mind for any song that may pop up. He’s not well acquainted with today’s hits, and not too savvy on the history of music and all its genres. He vaguely remembers his mother playing this one song by Marvin Gaye when he was a kid, a song about the environment and blues skies and pollution. Was that his name? Marvin? Or was it Martin? Rick’s exhausted mind can’t remember for the life of him, or care, for that matter, so he goes with his gut.

“Um, I guess that one song by Marvin Gaye? About the environment?” He hopes to God he doesn’t sound like a fool, or that he just made up the memory of the song in his head.

But Negan knows which song he’s talking about. “The Ecology song?” His eyes light up considerably, “Really?” His voice is incredulous, but not condescending, just excited.

The title of the song rings a bell and Rick nods, “Yeah, that one.”

“Why is that your favorite song?”

He shrugs. “My mom played it a lot, and I thought his voice was nice.” Negan smiles, agreeing on that last bit, “Marvin is sweet.”

Then his hands slap the table giddily, and he says, “Onto the next question!” like he’s the host of a game show. “Do you eat meat?”

Yet again, Rick finds himself silent, and a bit amused. He figures this has to be some sort of sexual innuendo, but Negan looks serious, so Rick answers with a reluctant “Yes?”

“How often would you say?”

This time Rick laughs a nervous laugh, cause this just has to be a dirty joke. He waits for the man to join him, and when he doesn’t, he cuts his laughter off quickly. He’s met with an unreadable look.

“Um… I don’t- I don’t know? Everyday, I guess.”

Negan gives him a horrified look. “In this apartment, we practice Meatless Mondays for ethical and environmental reasons. I myself don’t eat meat any day of the week, so it’s no problem for me. Will it be for you?”

Rick doesn’t like the serious tone he’s using, or his intense gaze. He kinds of want to ask what the hell makes him the boss of what Rick decides to put in his mouth? He’s gonna be paying half rent, after all, but he just let’s it go and huffs out, “I guess not.”

This makes Negan grin, pearly whites on display. “Fucking great! You sound to me like a promising roomie, Rick, I’ll let you in on that much.” His booming voice almost makes Rick flinch, such a stark contrast from the steady, nearly hushed, seriousness his tone carried just seconds ago. “Now- just one last question.”

Rick thanks his stars once again.

“You a Trump supporter?”

Rick gives a single cackle. “Fuck no.”

Negan’s grin widens impossibly so, as he takes hold of the idle beer in Rick’s hands. He pops it open on the edge of the table, and takes a swig. “Rick, you’ve just passed with flying colors. A-fucking-plus. Commended performance. Couldn’t have done better.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I encourage you guys to check out the songs that were mentioned in this chapter, if you don't already know them. There's some good stuff, I promise. :-)


	3. Chapter 3

Moving in is easy, Rick finds.

He's got almost no personal possessions, really, ever since that day he over-dramatically threw all his shit away. He's got his book bag, which carries everything he needs for school. He's got basic hygienic necessities. He's got four pairs of jeans, worn and frayed. He's got six t-shirts, half of which are UT themed cause he has no time for style. He's got a disclosed amount of underwear and socks. He's got his cellphone, and he's got two DVD's- _Dead Poets Society_ and _The One Who Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest_.

As for the bigger things like mattresses and headboards and dressers, they go in the bed of Glenn's truck, and get hauled over to Negan's.  
In multiple trips, of course.

The two of them are just about done moving everything of Rick's into Glenn's old room. Negan is at work.

"I remember when I had just moved in," Glenn says with light somber after he's thrown himself onto Rick's bed. His chest is heaving lightly as a product of the heavy lifting they had to do. "I met Maggie just a couple days later at a kegger." The boy says these words with an unusual reverence, and a boatload of fondness. Rick has to stifle a laugh.

"Sounds romantic," he deadpans, but his voice falters a little bit.

Glenn gives him a quick glare, but there's no heat behind it. He averts his gaze back to the ceiling and says, "I remember when I realized I wanted to move out, too."

"When was that?" Rick asks, amused.

"About sixteen hours later when Negan used my sketchpad to fix his wobbly amp." Rick honks out a laugh, and then another when the boy adds, "It might still be there, too. I never got it back."

Once he manages to gain back something resembling composure, he asks, "How'd you even end up livin' with him?"

Glenn smiles. "I saw him playing guitar on the street-"

"Negan plays guitar?"

"Yeah, it's all he really does, kinda... You'll hear it eventually, but anyways," he says, "I saw him playing guitar on the street, and he was _really good_. I always wanted to play guitar as a kid, but I never stuck to it, so I was like, completely in awe, and when I go to throw a couple of bucks in his guitar case, I see there's a little sign that says 'For Rent'. I was kinda confused about that, thought maybe it was his band’s name or something, so I stuck around til he finished up, and I asked him about it. He said his roommate had moved out so he was struggling to pay rent. I was living with my parent's at the time in San Marcos, so I had to drive thirty minutes to get to my classes, and I'd been thinking about moving out for a while, so I asked him about the place, went to see it a few days later, and I liked what I saw."

Rick imagines Negan playing guitar on the side of the road for tips, and a small smile dares to spread on his lips. _Of course Negan plays guitar_ , he thinks. Rick adds that tidbit of information to the scant picture of the man he had been painting in his head. He finds it fit quite well. "Did you know how he was when you moved in?"

"Eh, not really. I figured he was a little brash, most musicians are and he'd said a few smart things to me, but Negan is on another level," Glenn's brows furrowed, "I mean, Negan's not like one of those big-headed musicians. He was really sweet when I complimented him, and cause of that I thought maybe Negan was a sweet person in general. Like a flower child. That's where I went wrong. He's more.... Sid Vicious."

Rick was quiet, and the boy seemed to know why.

"From the Sex Pistols, Rick."

A look of horror took a hold of his face. "The _what_?"

Glenn burst out laughing.

Rick couldn't help but laugh at himself as well.  
-

It's nearing midnight when Negan gets back from work, and the first thing he does is knock on Rick's door.

Rick- who's been with his nose in a book, studying- feels a shot of panic sink down into his stomach, before he realizes it can really only be one person. Then he gets a new set of nerves, for reasons unbeknownst to even himself.

He runs his fingers through his hair quickly, checks to make sure his fly isn't down, and goes to answer the door.

Behind it is Negan, wearing dark jeans and a plain white t-shirt underneath a leather jacket that Rick's seen on him more often than not. One of his hands has a light grip on a vinyl record, while the other has a firm grasp on the neck of an acoustic guitar. Rick's eyes linger on the instrument for a second, until he looks up and sees the grin on Negan's face which is... nothing short of creepy.

"Well, howdy partner!" He says, mocking Rick's accent, "I just clocked out at the saloon, and as I was makin' my way home I remembered you was to be settlin' yer ass into yer new home! So I reckoned I ought to spread some of my southern hospitality onto my new constituent!"

Rick crossed his arms, and gave him a blank look. "Was that supposed to be funny?"

Negan smirked, tongue peeking through his teeth, looking utterly pleased with himself. "Baby, it's whatever you want it to be."

Rick rolled his eyes and quickly turned back into his room before the taller man could see his skin flush. Negan followed close behind.

"Room looks pretty damn empty," He comments. Rick's chest only aches a little bit when he thinks of how months ago, Lori had said something like that to him, after she had tried to explain her reasoning for fucking his now ex-best friend.

He settles back onto his bed and lets his gaze settle on his open book as if he were reading it, but he's not.

"Don't tell me you're one of those fuckin' minimalist dudes who's gonna shame me for owning two pairs of the same color socks." Negan's standing at the foot of his bed, laying the record and his guitar onto the mattress. Rick finds his eyes landing upon the instrument yet again as his mind wanders back to Glenn's story. A small curiosity itches underneath his skin.

“I’m not,” He averts his gaze towards Negan, “I just don’t have a lot of shit.” Then his gaze is back on the guitar. His eyes land on the headstock, and he reads ‘Gibson’ in worn, yellow-gold letters. It’s a little beat up, Rick notes. Little bits of wood are chipped off of the neck and body, and the rich coloring of the sunburst lacquer is scuffed dull enough that it reflects only a dim, modest glare.

“You checkin’ out my girl?” Rick looks up to see a smirking Negan, not a rare sight, but there’s that child-like gleam in his eyes that he’s only seen once when Rick brought up Marvin Gaye.

“1943 Gibson J-45 banner,” Negan says this lovingly as he picks up the guitar. He spins it around like a man would his lover on the ballroom floor, showing off the back and sides with pride. His voice is even and mild. “It’s a war-time guitar, so it was made by some lovely fuckin’ ladies trying to contribute to the war effort by working in the Gibson factories. Some of the best guitars _ever made_. These women knew their fuckin’ shit.”

Rick said nothing for a second, not really sure how to respond to that information, seeing as he wasn’t stock full of any guitar trivia to enlighten the man with. So, lamely he said, “You play guitar?”

Negan gave a small chuckle that suggested Rick didn’t know the half of it- and he didn’t. “You could say that.”

“And you take your guitar to work? Where do you work?”

“A record shop downtown. Best job ever. I just sit around listening to records, noodling around on my guitar, jammin’.”

“Play me something.”

Negan’s whole being perks up. “You want me to serenade you?”

Rick rolls his eyes. “Not unless you don’t want to.”

The man slings the guitar strap over his head, no more questions asked, and messes with the tuning for a second. “I ain’t singing, but I’ll pluck a string or two.”

Then his fingers get moving, and out comes a melody that’s soft and mellow, such a stark contrast from the man playing the instrument. Rick feels his brows raise in surprise, and he worries for a second that Negan will see his reaction and never let him live it down, that he’ll take the look on Rick’s face as another inflation to his ego, but Negan’s not looking at him. He’s not looking at anything, actually.

His head is hung low, as if he were watching his own fingers move across the frets, but with a closer look he sees that his eyes are closed. He looks peaceful, like an infant sung into a deep slumber by a loving mother, and Rick feels like he's intruding on something intimate.

The feel of the music graduates into something angsty and powerful, and Rick listens on with curious intent. Then there’s a furrow in Negan’s brow, his face scrunching as if his guitar is draining him of every emotion in his body, good and bad. The fingers on his left hand work the fretboard of the neck with a bit more attitude than before, bending and shaking with vibrato while the right hand puts some muscle into how it plucks and strums the strings. Every sound starts to build up, large and full and glittering, and it seems almost tangible in the chest of the boy who plays audience.

Glenn was right; Negan is damn good.

Then suddenly, both of Negan’s hands come to a stop, and it's over, like shutting a window on a forceful gust of wind. Rick looks on patiently, thinking there’s no way it can be over, the tune was just getting to its peak. For a second, he believes he’s right as he watches the guitarist mess with the tunings yet again, but then a memorable riff meets Rick’s ears, and Negan’s playing the opening to ‘Back in Black’ by AC/DC. He’s not as emotionally invested as he was before, but he still looks like he’s having the time of his life, and he plays it so immaculately, like he came out of the womb with a guitar in his hands.

Then that’s over, too, and Rick can’t help but stare, feeling slightly on edge. He’s seen plenty of live music, especially in this city, but he’s never felt anything like what he’s feeling now after seeing someone play. He tells himself it’s just because Negan’s good as hell, that’s all.

“I’m not much of an AC/DC fan, but that shit sure is fun as fuck to play.” There's a glow to his skin that's not because of his natural tan. Rick watches as he sets the guitar back onto the bed and says nothing, just locks his gaze on the stringed object just a few inches away from him like it’s offended him greatly. In a way, it sort of has.

“Geez, was I that fuckin’ bad?” Negan says after a moment of silence passes. Rick can hear the slight undertone of nervousness in his playful voice, and when he meets the man’s gaze, there's something vulnerable hidden in his eyes.

“What was that first song you played?” He asks, in lieu of an answer.

The guitarist’s brows furrow the slightest bit. “It was just a jam. Improv.”

“You came up with that on the spot?”

Negan chuckles, amused at how little Rick knows about music. “Yeah. It’s a thing musicians do a lot. Lets the freak flag fly.”

 “I liked it. Alot.”

Negan smiles sheepishly, almost blushing. It makes him look so young and Rick feels like he’s looking at a completely different person. It’s no wonder Glenn was mislead when he first met the musician on the streets.

“Well, shucks, Rick. Gonna make my head get all big-” He thinks for a second, then corrects himself, “- bigger- with all that sweet talk. You got me all buttered up.”

Rick shakes his head with a smile. There's the Negan he knows. “I said four words.”

“That’s all I need, sweetcheeks. I’m a simple kind of man.”

He rolls his eyes, smile growing by the second. “Goodnight, Negan.”

“Goodnight, Rick,” Negan says, slowly seeing his way out.

Rick sees the guitar and the record still on his bed, and calls out, “Negan?”

The man turns around a little too quick with a smirk plastered on his face. “Couldn’t stand to watch me leave ya’, huh?” He says, eyebrows waggling crudely.

Rick actually laughs because this guy is too unbelievable, which earns a grin from Negan.  
“You forgot your things.”

“Oh yeah, I knew that.” He retrieves his belongings, not one ounce bashful. “I could never forget about my babies.”

Negan leaves for real this time, repeating his “Goodnight, Rick.” on his way out.

Rick’s fast asleep only a few minutes after he’s left.

-

When Rick wakes up, it’s to slow and heavy rock and roll, and his headboard vibrating against the wall with the gut busting volume and presence of the bass in the music. It’s a rude awakening in every literal and figurative sense of the saying.

Rick groans, though it’s for naught, since he can’t even hear it, and begins the search for his phone amongst the sheets and duvets on his bed.

When he finds it, he presses the home button for the time.

It reads 5:02 a.m.

Rick groans louder (still can’t hear it though) at the sight as he locks his phone, tossing it back onto his bed. He cradles his own ears softly, just as a nasal vocal joins in on the medley of heavy instrumental. 

His morning class is at 8am, and he technically does not have to be awake until 7, but he knows he won’t be able to go back to sleep considering his environment, and he knows what needs to be done if he really wants those two extra hours of rest. And _boy_ does he wants them, _needs_ them, really.

So he gets up from his bed, and gives himself a moment to build up the will to face the music. Again, literally and figuratively.

Once he deems himself ready, he makes his way down to the end of the thin corridor where Negan’s room resides, and gives a knock that would’ve done the trick had it been raucous free in this household, but it’s not.

So he gives another knock, this time with more force and a call of Negan’s name.

The music doesn’t let up, and no one comes to answer the door. He gives an even harder knock and another call of his name.

Still nothing.

Rick sighs loudly, but not loud enough still. A fat drop of agitation leaks from his head down to his feet, and he’s pounding on the door nonstop now, yelling out “Negan!” with a sleep ridden, hoarse voice.

The music quiets down to a dull hum, and he hears the sound of footsteps approaching the other side of the door.

When it swings open, Negan’s standing there with that unnervingly gleeful grin on his face, which seems unnatural at every other time of the day, but at the crack of dawn especially. It make him just a little more aggravated, and he feels his jaw clench as a result.

Then Rick’s eyes travel southward, and he catches sight of Negan’s bare chest, tight and tanned with a smattering of dark hair that grows thicker as it trails down to his groin and into …the tiniest fucking shorts Rick has ever seen on a man.

His legs are long and strong with lean muscle. The skin of his thighs is a warm color that suggests they see the sun more often than not. The black cotton material hugs his thin hips and his- Oh God.

Rick feels his eyes widen and his face flush with heat. He quickly averts his gaze back to the Negan’s eyes, only to catch him in the middle of giving his own body a once over. When Negan’s focus finally goes back to his face, Rick suddenly becomes very aware that he’s wearing only a t-shirt and his boxer briefs. He feels his Adam's apple bob in his throat.

Negan is wearing those _damn shorts_ , but he gives Rick one look and somehow manages to make him feel as naked as Negan actually _is_ close to being.

“Howdy, partner.” There’s a silkiness to his tone, and his eyes are darker than usual as they bore into the younger man's.  
Rick blinks hard, trying to snap himself out of God knows what. He’s just tired, he tells himself.

Just tired.

Why was he at Negan’s door in the first place, anyways??

Oh yeah, the music. Rick feels that tiny flicker of annoyance come alive again.  
“Can you turn your shit down? I have to be up in two damn hours.”

Negan raises a brow, ever amused. “My shit?”

Rick rolls his eyes. He can always count on Negan to drag things out. “Your music, can you turn it down.”

“But it already is, baby.” Rick ignores how smooth his voice is, and how he feels his skin burning so hot that it stings.

“Don’t call me that, I barely know you.”

Negan tilts his head, shooting him a daring look from his playful, narrowed eyes, “Is it cuz you barely know me, or cuz it makes you turn redder than a pretty little rose?”

Rick huffs out a breath, choosing to ignore that question and glare at Negan instead. “Just keep it down,” he makes it a point to look down at Negan’s legs as obviously as possible, “Daisy Duke.”

The man honks out a laugh and Rick can’t tell if it’s genuine or not, “Good one, Rick. Was that supposed to hurt my feelings?”

Rick shakes his head and lets another sigh leave his lungs. Then he’s making his way back to his own room, Negan’s eyes heavy on his back. “Please just keep it down.”

The taller man overlooks his plea, instead lingering on the quip made about his shorts. “Daisy Duke was hot as fuck in her day. There something you tryin’ to tell me, Rick?”

He gives Negan the finger, not even sparing him a glance. He hears the man laugh low and genuine in his chest as Rick shuts the door to his room.

When he’s back under the covers, and the tingling down South has gone dormant, he prays to whoever’s out there that he does not dream about an evil man with long legs in short shorts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> songs mentioned in this chapter include 'porcelain' by the red hot chili peppers. such a good song, i'd pay you to listen to it if I had some money!!

In the afternoon of that same day, Rick is working his shift at the public library. 

It’s a Monday, one of the busiest days, especially during Lunch when a melting pot of mostly students and homeless people drop by to study, find books, or take refuge from all the noise pollution that mingles about in the streets. 

He’s been busy in the children’s reading center, re-organizing all the small, colorful books and putting toys back in their bins for when school lets out in a few hours, and the flurry of little ones with their parent’s stop by to read and enjoy whatever else this library has to offer. Every once in awhile, he’ll have one of the little ones who are too little to go to school come up and ask him where the  _Clifford The Big Red Dog _ books are, or if he can grab a book off of a high shelf. He does it with a smile on his face, because it’s his job, and because these tots are just too damn cute.

Once everything is dealt with there, he’s off dusting shelves and re-shelving the books and CDs that have returned from their check out time. It’s a tedious task, but he’s more than happy to do it. Especially after this morning’s events.

He hadn’t dreamt about Negan, thank God, but still there was something about the man that lingered in the back of his head as he went about his day. He couldn’t think straight during the lecture his professor gave in statistics. His mind just kept on wandering back to Negan. How he stood, how he dressed, how he spoke, his guitar, his music, how the smudgy black kohl he wore made his eyes such a warm brown. Then he’d realize what he was thinking of and shake his head, as if it would cause his thoughts to vanish like his brain was an etch-a-sketch. Rinse and repeat, and then before he knew it, class was over, and he had no notes at all written in his open notebook.

In a small panic, he had asked the girl next to him, Michonne, if he could take a picture of what she had gotten down. 

“Jeez, Rick, long weekend? You look like you’ve got a lot on your mind.” Her tone was light and teasing as she handed over her notebook. There was a hint of a smile on her face.

Rick smiled back sheepishly, “Mondays, y’kno?”

“Oh, I know,” she nodded.

Then they said their goodbyes,  and Rick was on his way to the library desperately fighting off the incessant buzz of  _ NeganNeganNegan _ that hummed wildly in his head. It worked for a while, the fighting and the throwing himself head and hands first into his work. But now Rick has finished re-shelving his last few books, and it's time for his break. 

On any other day, he’d study during his break time, but if his statistics class showed him anything, it's that any task he attempts that requires his attention will be in vain.

Instead- once a loud rumble from his stomach disturbs the peace of the library- he decides to go grab some lunch from a deli just a few blocks away, thinking that maybe going on a walk and doing some people watching will distract himself from his onstream of Negan-ful thoughts. 

But as he's walking to his destination, he sees a young-looking guy sitting on the side of the street, playing an acoustic guitar. He's playing some pop tune that was pretty popular a few years ago, and Rick finds himself thinking,  _ He's not as good as Negan .  _

He shakes his head again, groaning aloud as he scolds his brain for thinking of his roommate. Ultimately, he sighs, finding it of no use. Some things just can't be stopped,  _ that _ he knows.

So he surrenders to the thoughts, thinking that maybe it's not such a good idea to push them away, that his mind is bringing them forward for a reason. 

And he knows the god damn reason. He just doesn’t want to admit it. He doesn’t want to admit that he thinks Negan is  _ kind of _ hot. Because that brings up so many other questions and problems, like

How’s he gonna act around Negan now?

Is Negan even gay?

Is  _ he _ gay?

Rick doesn’t want to think about that, but he does, because his mind is a bitch. 

What’s he gonna tell his parents if he  _ is _ gay? His father wouldn’t be too happy about that, the conservative that he is. He had nearly had a heart attack when he found out Rick wanted to go to school in Austin, asking his son why he “couldn’t just go to Texas Christian University. It’s a nice school.” But in the end, UT had one of the best programs for speech-language pathology, and that’s what Rick wanted to study.

Now he’s here in Austin, and he’s got a crush on Negan, a rock n roll musician. Poor Mr. Grimes would drop dead on the ground had he any insight on his son’s life.

He’s momentarily torn from his thoughts when the cashier takes his order. He ends up getting whatever today’s special is,  just because he does not have the capacity to choose from the menu’s variety of options today.

When his food is ready, he pays the cashier, and quickly makes his way back to the library while simultaneously eating his sandwich and trying not to think too hard when he passes by the guy playing his guitar on the side of the road.

Just as he’s entering the building, a familiar voice calls out his name from the exit door.

“Hey Rick! I knew you worked here, man.”

Rick turns to meet the greeting, sandwich still equipped in hand, and a bite of it in his mouth.

It’s Glenn, and he looks raggier than Rick has ever seen him. His hair is oily and unkempt, and the wind sure isn’t doing much help. He’s wearing a plain black t-shirt with visible bleach stains, blue flannel pajama pants, and some beat-up pink bunny slippers that Rick can’t help but chuckle at.

“Hey Glenn,” He says, after swallowing his food, “What’re you doing here?”

Glenn doesn’t take his words the wrong way, he just looks down at his own ensemble as if to say _‘_ _ Yeah, I know.’ _

“Oh, my art professor is giving us extra credit if we send him a picture of ourselves with some of the sculptures they have at the library. I may have put it off a little too long, forgot it was due today before class, and realized all this during my me time.”

Rick laughs, thankful for the well needed humor his friend so naturally emits. “Send me those pictures.”

“Yeah, you wish,” He says, before his gaze lands on Rick’s sandwich, eyes widening in horror. “Is that  _ bacon?! _ Dude, it’s  _ MEATLESS FREAKIN’ MONDAY! ” _

People walking by shoot them odd looks.

Rick finds himself with his mouth agape, slightly frightened by his friend’s shrill yelling as he tries to process what he’s been told.

_ Shit _ . He forgot about meatless Monday.

“It’s okay, it’s okay! You’ll be fine,” Glenn continues, “Go to the store, buy some mouthwash, some gum, some mints. He’ll never know! You’ll be fine.”

Rick has a feeling Glenn is overreacting, but still a spike of fear tenses his voice, “I forgot! It was an honest mistake. I’ll just tell him that. He probably won’t even bring it up, he’ll just assume I remembered.”

“Negan takes meatless Mondays very, very seriously.”

Rick groans for the hundredth time today he suspects.

\- 

When his shift at the library is over, and he’s making his way back home, he takes Glenn’s advice and stops at the nearest convenience store in his route.

“Got a hot date or somethin’, buddy?” The teen who’s ringing up his items says. Rick chuckles, finding it of no use to fully explain his dilemma. He barely knows the half of it himself.

“Date with death, more like it.” He says, deadpan.

The teen furrows his bushy brows, but then quickly shrugs off any thoughts he might’ve had propped on his shoulders, and instead hands Rick his bag, “Different strokes for different folks, as they say. Have a good night, man.”

“You too, man.” He says before walking out of the store.

_Look at me,_ he thinks, _talking to strangers, having feelings for Negan_. 

Maybe it’s a mid-life crisis.

After all, who knows how long he’s gonna live? Who knows how old his soul is already? It’s been feeling over the hill for too long; he needs a change, whatever that could be.

He brings the small bottle of Listerine to his lips, letting the sting that encompasses his mouth distract his rambling mind. He swishes the liquid for a good while, before he spits it out in one of the bushes nearby. Then he pops a stick of gum in his mouth, for good measure. He hadn’t gotten mints, deciding a tin of Altoids was a little overkill.

His breath is positively minty when he gets to the front porch of his and Negan’s apartment, but as he unlocks the door, he can’t help but feel a child-like fear settle in his gut.

Inside the apartment, all the lights are off in the living room, save for a few sizable candles. Some familiar music is playing- a little louder than the average person would play it, but still a tolerable volume- and the sound mingles peacefully with the popping and sizzling noises of someone cooking.

As he makes his way into the kitchen, where the lights are on, he sees Negan slaving over what seems to be an assortment of vegetables in a wok, as far as he can tell.

A quieter song begins to play, allowing Rick’s footsteps to become more conspicuous. Negan turns around to meet the sound, a smirk growing on his mouth. It’s softer around the edges, or at least Rick would like to think so.

He also notes that the man’s wearing pants now, which he is endlessly grateful for.

“Howdy, Rick,” He greets, surprisingly not mocking Rick’s accent, “You’re just in time. Dinner’s almost ready.”

“Dinner?” Rick questions.

“It’s your first meatless Monday, and my day off for the first time in fucking weeks. Thought maybe we could celebrate.”

He tries not to look into his words too much, or look as guilty as he feels because he totally blew off meatless Monday. Instead, after a moment has passed, he jokes, “What’s with the candles? Forgot to pay your part of the rent?” rather stupidly, since the light’s  _ clearly _  on in the kitchen.

“Yeah, smartass, that’s why the light’s on in here… and for your information, I was trying to create a vibe.”

Rick lets that one pass, since he practically walked himself right into it.

He rests his eyes upon Negan, who’s setting the table for two, but he finds he has to look away, so he decides to focus his attention towards the soft, slow tune that’s playing, the sound of the voice so familiar as it sings _‘_ _ Little Lune. All day.’ _ repeatedly against a looming instrumental.

“Who’s this?” He asks. Negan looks up at him. He’s currently plating the food he’d been cooking, and the younger man’s brain really did not need these domestic images implanted into his head. He figures just living with Negan is enough domesticity in itself.

“The music?”

Rick nods.

“It’s the Red Hot Chili Peppers.” The name clicked in Rick’s brain, causing him to smile. “One of their slower songs.”

Negan notices the look on his face, and can’t help but smile himself, genuine and warm. “Why are you smiling?”

“I used to listen to them in high school,” He explains.

Negan figures there’s more of a story to that, but leaves it alone for now. “Yeah? How long ago was that?”

Rick can hear the underlying question, so plainly he says, “I’m twenty.”

The other man shoots him an amused look. “How forward of you, Rick. I can sure as hell appreciate that.”

Rick shakes his head, smile still lingering, before he asks, “And you?”

Negan's with his head in the refrigerator, rummaging around for something while he answers with a weary, “Twenty-five.”

Makes sense, Rick thinks. He definitely looks older than Glenn and Maggie, and most of the students around campus. “Pretty old, huh?” He smirks, taking his seat at the small, circle table.

Negan rolls his eyes, setting two beers onto the table, one for Rick and one for him, before he sits down in his seat in front of the younger man. “Shut up and eat your damn food.”

Rick laughs and does as he's told, piercing his fork through a piece of stir-fried tofu and putting it in his mouth, albeit a little hesitantly.

It tastes better than he ever thought it would, if he was being honest. Did it make him want to quit eating meat? No, but it certainly made vegetarianism seem not all that bad.

“Not bad, huh?” Rick didn’t realize Negan was watching him and weighing his reaction, until the man’s voice disrupted his eating.

He felt himself flush under the older man’s attention.

“Shut up,” He said, in lieu of an answer.

Negan laughed smugly, and began to eat his own food. “So,” he began, “how was your first meatless Monday?” There was a knowing lilt to his voice.

Rick felt his body pause for a split second, his fork twitching in his hand. “Um, it was alright. Not as hard as I thought.” He began to shovel his food into his mouth at a faster rate than before, eyes locked on his plate.

“I know Glenny was a big ole bitch about  _ his  _ first day. Went on and on about how it was interfering with his studies, which is stupid as shit considering he’s a fucking film major.”

Rick remains fully invested in his food, acting like he did not hear a thing Negan has just said.

But he pushed on, voice exerting more aggression than before, “So? Did any of this interfere with your schooling? What is it that you study, anyway? Agriculture, or some other Southern Country-folk shit?”

Rick dropped his fork, shooting him a hot glare as he sat deeper into his chair, arms crossing sternly over his chest. He tried not to let the sudden insecurity growing in his gut show on his face.

When he spoke, he made an effort to subtle his accent. “Didn’t you get all your questions answered just the other night with your little interview?”

He didn’t want to tell Negan what he was studying, and he didn’t want to admit that he actually cared what Negan might have to say about it. But the shyness in his belly was a growing reminder that he could not steer away from.

“First of all, that was Glenn’s idea. Second of all, no, I didn’t,” He took a swig of his beer, Rick did the same, “But you’ve got a point there, Rick. I talk way too much, I fucking admit it. But, you-” he pointed at the younger man with the neck of the beer bottle, " _you _ don’t talk enough _._

“Maybe I just don’t want to talk to  _ you . _ ”

Rick hoped to see something matching insecurity or hurt drawn on his face, or in his eyes, but Negan just scoffs, “That would just about break my heart if it were one ounce fucking true.”

He sighs, “Well, what do you want me to say?”

“ _ Fucking anything, man! _ Whatever the hell your soul desires, just don’t fucking  _ask _ me what to say, I’m not your Dad or some shit.”

Rick can feel how he’s slowly crawling into himself the more intimidating Negan becomes, and he wracks his brain for something to say, but there’s nothing interesting. Or at least nothing interesting enough for Negan, the older musician who’s probably fucked so many chicks and seen so many things out in the streets of Austin. Things that Rick wouldn’t even be able to comprehend.

Regardless he asks, and he hates how feeble his voice has become, “Wh-what are you studying?” It’s a stupid fucking question, he’s probably studying music or something like that, but Rick still asks.

“What am I studying?” There’s a bite to his tone, something defensive.

The younger man nods apprehensively.

Negan’s words are sour and guarded. “I’m not studying anything. I don’t fucking go to school. Not anymore.”

His answer takes Rick aback, and a thoughtless “What?” slips from his mouth.

“Mommy and Daddy don’t have the money to pay for all the precious, mind-expanding education that UT has to offer.” 

Rick takes that as a jab towards himself; a taunting remark implying he's one of those college kids that takes advantage of their parent’s money, and fucks around with it. Of course his parents  _ do _ help out when it comes to tuition, they help make ends meet when financial aid and scholarships can only be stretched so far. But that’s a given with the costs of secondary education nowadays, and he tries his best to fend for himself as much as he can  _ and  _ still maintain his 4.0

But despite all of this, Negan’s jeering words still makes him feel incredibly guilty.

“I’m sorry,” Rick says, quiet but genuine, as he finds it in himself to meet the older man’s eyes, “It was rude of me to just… assume.”

Something flickers in Negan’s gaze, making his dense expression soften. After a while he says, "You wanna ask me another question?”

Rick ponders that one over, before ultimately asking, “Why were you up at 5am if it was your day off?”

“Yoga.” He answers easily, and suddenly the atmosphere around them is casual once again as Negan picks up his fork.

“Yoga at 5am? With  _ that _ music? Couldn’t that wait ‘til like… 11am?” The older man cackles, finding this all too funny.

“I’m up when the sun’s up, Rick, get used to it… and I chose to play Sabbath _especially_  for you, “ He says. “Think of it as a housewarming gift.”

“Sabbath?” Rick questions, “Who’s that?”

Negan smirks goofy and wide. “I don’t know if I should think your lack of musical exposure is as cute as I think it is.”

Rick coughs awkwardly, then takes down more than half of his beer in one go, feeling Negan's eyes on him as he drinks.

“It’s a band, Rick.”

He just raises an eyebrow to acknowledge that bit of information.

-

Later on that night, Rick’s laying in bed in his dark, nearly empty room, staring up at the ceiling. Negan’s been listening to the same Red Hot Chili Peppers song that played at dinner for what he can only assume has been hours. 

It’s not loud (by Negan’s terms), but Rick hears the tune loop and loop endlessly in a gentle haze of it’s own lyrics:

 

_ Porcelain, are you wasting away in your skin?  _

_ Are you missing the love of your kin? _

_ Drifting and floating and fading away. _

 

_ Porcelain, do you carry the moon in your womb? _

_ Someone told me you’re fading too soon.  _

_ Nodding and melting and fading away. _

 

_ Little lune, all day. _

_ Little lune.  _

 

He hears the words, and something long hollow in him aches around the edges, begging to be filled. 

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! :) sorry if this chapter kind of felt like a drag, I was just trying to set some things straight, and build up some context for things to come in future chapters. 
> 
> Constructive criticism is more than welcome. I'm just tryin to grow. :)


	5. Chapter 5

One of the most important moments of Rick’s life happens after just a little over a week of living with Negan. Both of the boys are hardly ever home; with Negan working extra shifts at the record store and playing the more than occasional late-night bar show, and Rick being fully absorbed with his studies and his job at the library.

Whenever they both happen to be home at the same time- whenever Rick’s not studying, or Negan’s not practicing- their interactions are either short and casual, or short and full of sexual tension, or a combination of both, which Rick can’t even bother to understand.

When it happens, it seems ordinary. Just another terse, to the point conversation.

Rick is in his room paraphrasing the last chapter he had read in his Psychology book, when there’s a knock on his door. Being that this is something that happens often, the younger boy is accustomed to the feeling of his nerves fleeing to the pit of his stomach, and almost like clockwork, he calls out, “Come in.”

Negan comes in, but today he comes bearing a worn sketchpad in his hands.

“Hey, Glenny left this in my room, like, fucking years ago,” he tosses it softly onto Rick’s bed, and it lands right next to his foot, “Thought maybe you’d wanna give it back to him whenever you see him.”

A smile spreads across Rick’s face as he remembers the story Glenn had told him, and he knows Glenn didn’t _leave_ it in Negan’s room.

“Yeah, sure,” Rick says, taking the sketchpad into his hands, “Thanks.”

“No problem, cowboy.” He says, and then he’s gone.

 

Rick looks down at the journal in his hands, almost like-new had he not noticed the slight age it's thick, cardboard cover retained. He flipped it open to the first page, seeing the name ‘Glenn’ written in calligraphy multiple times in practice.

The next page was a self portrait in black ink. Rick heard a small gasp escape himself as he took hold of the sight. Every stroke of the pen, harsh and light, captured all the big and little things his friend’s face held naturally. It held as much story as a photo might. A gush of fondness filled his chest, and he realized he had never had a friend like Glenn in his entire life; a friend that he took pride upon. A friend who filled him with a child-like joy. He was lucky.

The next page held a cartoonish drawing of a superhero: a young Asian man with a fit, tall body in tights and a cape, colored in bright and opaque greens and yellows and purples. There was nothing recognizable that gave away who it was, no name or anything, so Rick assumed it must be an original.

When Rick turned the next few pages and saw they were all blank, he felt a rush of disappointment, and he hadn’t realized he was smiling until he felt his lips go slack.

He closed the journal, feeling the weight of it in his hands as his body went idle. He didn’t want to give it back, and he didn’t necessarily have to. Glenn didn’t know his sketchpad was no longer being held hostage, and he had gone so long without it that he probably had a new one.

_Yeah_ , he thought, _I’ll keep it ._ With that, Rick grabbed his pen that lay resting in the crevice of his textbook, and reopened the stolen journal.

Then he put pen to paper, and didn’t stop until his body demanded sleep.

When he awoke the next morning, it was to a face full of paper, ink, and drool. As he pulled himself away, he saw how his own saliva smeared his handwriting and his small doodles, making them unrecognizable.

He looked to the mirror, knowing there had to be traces of it all on his cheek, and indeed there was. As he made his way to the restroom, still dressed in the jeans and t-shirt ensemble he was wearing last night, Negan- who was lounging around with his guitar in the living room- stopped him, taking in his appearance.

“Fall asleep taking notes again, ya’ fuckin’ square?”

Rick gave a half-assed groaned, eyes and face swollen with sleep.

-

From that moment on, though he may not have realized it at first, Rick saw everything differently. He wrote a lot, too, and it wasn’t really intentional, it was more like he just _had_ to.

Everything he saw on a daily basis- like a big green tree or a child with their parent- that was once ordinary and mundane, now fed into a newborn interest that so spontaneously erupted in Rick, and it made him want to write about it all.

So he did, and he didn’t want to think about it too much. It was just a hobby for now; something to help him escape from all the harsh problems of his young life, something to help him escape his thoughts.

Rick didn’t realize it isolated him more than he already had been until today.

He had just gotten out of his morning class, and had hurried home in hopes of eating whatever was in the fridge and then taking a nap.

He was sitting at the circle table, eating a banana and staring groggily ahead when the sound of nearing footsteps broke him free of his trance.

“Well, son of a motherfucking gun..." Rick looked up to see Negan, willowy and walking towards him with a blinding grin. “And I was thinkin’ maybe I needed an appointment to see my buddy Rick!”

Rick didn’t really know what to say, so he stayed quiet. The two of them hadn’t seen much of each other, that was true. For the most part, it was due to the younger man’s new hobby; it gave him an excuse to avoid Negan, in an attempt to withdraw himself from whatever it was he felt towards him. That plan didn’t work however, and as he gazed at the figure standing before him, he found that he missed seeing him as often as he used to.

But it wasn’t just Rick. Negan has been out more often as well, for God knows what reasons.

The older man took Rick’s silence as an invitation to sit down. He gazed at his younger roommate, studying his face intently before he spoke. “You look tired.”

“I am,” Rick said plainly, still chewing. It was true, too, he was _very_ tired. That just so happened to become his new default state when he picked up writing, but Negan didn’t know that.

“School kickin’ your ass?”

He thought about that question a while, before nodding. School _was_ kicking his ass, but not in the simplest ways.

An awkward silence fell between them- Rick obviously wasn’t the best conversationalist.

He scraped his mind for things to say, the best thing being “What’ve you been doing?”.

He didn’t like how stiff his voice sounded around the words.

Negan’s mouth stretched into a mischievous smirk. “My life has just recently been falling right into place.”

Rick felt his eyebrow cock upwards in confusion, and the older man took it as a sign to go on.

“Got a band together,” he states, and his face is giddy with joy, “I finally found my fucking singer, and she’s got the _best damn voice_ the city of Austin will ever fucking hear, I swear to God. Her names Beth. She’s a tiny, wild looking thing but she opens her mouth and it's all the soul and grit that the music needs put back in it.”

Negan talks like he’s in love with her and Rick can’t help the heat the shoots through his veins. _God help him_ , he’s fucking jealous. He can’t believe he’s actually jealous.

“I didn’t think a voice like that could come out of her, man, she’s like the female Jeff Buckley,” he continues, “Or Robert Plant. I don’t know it’s like nothing I’ve ever heard, it’s just so fucking beautiful.”

The heat continues it’s path now to Rick’s stomach, his body tensing as he says, “You in love with her or somethin’?” He had tried for a casual jab, but fell far from it.

If Negan could sense his jealousy, he didn’t mention anything of it. Instead he just laughed, “Fuck no, she’s like 17. She’s a big ole book of teenage angst and rebellion and anarchy, dropped out of high school and everything. Too immature for my taste… and small.”

Rick felt a cool relief wash over him.

“I like ‘em big,” He tagged on, flashing the younger man a wink.

Rick felt his skin heat up again, but for very different reasons this time. He opened his mouth, searching for something to say, but Negan beat him to it.

“I think something might be going on between her and my drummer Daryl, too, so there’s that. Now personally, I’m against relationships inside the band, because just look what it did to Fleetwood fucking Mac, but I’ve got some kickass fucking talent in the band right now, so I guess I’ll have to let it slide for now. At least until we find a bass player.”

“Wait, Daryl? Daryl Dixon?”

“Uh… yeah? You know him?”

Rick nods, “Yeah, used to live with him.”

“Is he the dude who messed around with your ex-chick?” Negan asks cautiously.

Rick furrows his brow, wondering how exactly he got that information.

“Glenn,” Negan says simply, confirming Rick’s suspicions.

“No, Daryl was after that.” He answered.

Negan nodded.

 

After their conversation, Rick finished his banana and had a nap, as planned.

Before he zonked out, he thought about how small this world was, what with Daryl and all.

-

 

Rick was pulled out of his snooze by the sound of loud, blues music- which was a normal occurrence in this household, but this time it was different. It sounded different.

He recognized the song playing, the crooning lyrics and the slinky sounding guitar against a steady snare that so often played from Negan’s room, but this time the sound of it was so close outside his door, and instead of a man singing out the lyrics, it was a woman. Her voice was so thick and pining it nearly put him in a trance as it bellowed out “I got a bad, bad feeling my baby don’t love me no more. Now the sky’s been cryin’, the tears rolling down my door.”

Immediately he got to his feet, seeking the source of the sounds. He didn’t have to search hard; the music had been coming not a few yards outside his door, just in the living room.

Negan, who’s sitting on the couch besides a tiny, wailing blonde - who Rick assumes is Beth- is playing his guitar carefully, waiting for cues from Daryl, who’s sitting behind a minimal 3-piece drum set.

He must’ve been watching Rick since he’d emerged from his room, cause when the younger boy looks up to meet the sight before him, he immediately locks eyes with Negan. His gaze was soft and amused for just a second, before it flickered into something mischievous as a smirk met his lips.

Negan stops playing, which causes everyone else to stop what they were doing and look up at what could’ve interrupted them.

“Well looky, everybody! It’s Sleeping fucking Beauty! Ain’t he somethin’?”

Rick gives him a bored look that’s half unamused, half still asleep.

He continues, “Daryl, you know Rick-”

Daryl, who looks very confused, says, “Yeah... good to see you again, man.”

Rick nods his head in acknowledgement, and his muddled brain figures Daryl being a drummer explains his crazy toned arms.

“- And Beth, this is Rick, my roommate. Rick, I told you about Beth.”

The younger boy studies the girl by Negan’s side. She has big, frizzy blonde hair that contrasts her youthful, delicate face. Her big blue eyes are dressed in dark makeup, and her clothing is laid back and worn. Behind it all, Rick thinks she could pass as a thirteen year old, and he _cannot_ believe that the voice he heard came from her.

“ _You’re_ Beth??” He says, incredulous, and he thinks he feels his jaw hang a bit.

“I know, right!” Negan chuckles in agreement, but Beth seems to take Rick’s disbelief to offense.

“Yeah, _I’m_ Beth. Somethin' wrong with that?” She says with an eyebrow arched sassily. Negan eyes Rick like he’s interested to see how he’ll respond.

Rick’s seen that look on Beth’s face before. He’s definitely heard that accent too-  and not just from himself.

“No, no,” Rick shakes his head, “It’s just- wow. I don’t know what to say… You- you’ve got a big voice.”

Beth’s look softens, and she shrugs. “So I’ve been told.”

Negan honks out an impressed laugh, saying “Lil’ Beth here is also smooth as fuck,” which earns a laugh from Daryl.

The three of them invite Rick to sit in on their practice, and he accepts their offer happily. He sits on the red vinyl loveseat opposite the trio, and watches them do their thing. They have a great sound about them- even without a bass player- that can’t be explained, and their chemistry is undeniable. They all have incredible talent, but naturally Rick finds his eyes on Negan most of the time. He watches the way his fingers work the strings, how they shake the guitar for vibrato. He watches the faces he makes, mostly calm looks, but then they escalate as his playing gets grittier.

Then Rick will look at Beth or Daryl when he hears one of them do something extra amazing, but when his gaze returns back to the guitarist, he finds him already looking back, face unreadable while still working the guitar as if playing is as easy as breathing.

After a handful of songs, Rick’s eyelids start to feel heavy again, the remnants of fatigue from his interrupted nap coming back to consume him. The squeaky loveseat seems to become the most comfortable cot in the world, and almost on cue, Negan starts playing something tranquil and lulling, Beth hums out tender, wordless rhythms, and Daryl lightly rides the cymbals.

He tells himself he’ll just rest his eyes for a second, and then he’s asleep again.

-

When he wakes up for the third time today, it’s at his own will.

His eyes open at their own time, and he stretches his arms out with a sleep-filled groan. He sees he’s laying on the loveseat in the living room, and a small panic takes over him as he tries to recall how he ended up here.

Then he remembers Negan and his guitar and Beth with her loud singing and Daryl banging on the drums, and that answers that question.

He sits up and looks around the room, finding the trio is nowhere to be found.

Damn, how long was he out?

The living room looks untouched, and he briefly wonders if he dreamed up that whole scene, and sleepwalked into the living room, subconsciously following the sounds his brain created. He’s never done anything like that, but he figures there’s a first for everything nowadays.

He pushes that theory to the back of his foggy mind, and instead decides on making his way back to his room. He thinks maybe he should study for all the midterms coming up soon, but then he remembers Beth’s voice and how it made him feel, her odd look and disposition, and it makes him want to find ways to put it all into words. He feels his fingertips tingle with interest, and decides maybe he can study another time.

When he gets to his room, the light is on, and there’s a long body lying sideways across his bed, head and feet dangling off the sides as if he’s looking underneath the bed.

Rick’s brows furrow, and he thanks his stars that his brain is not alert enough to think too much of this. Why are so many weird things happening?

“Negan?” He calls out, nearly whining. _God, he’s so tired._ “Why are you in my room?”

Negan’s body jolts up as it turns to face the younger man. His eyes are wide with surprise.. and maybe fear? Either way, the look puzzles Rick even further, and he wonders if maybe he’s still dreaming and this is about to get freaky.  Then his eye catches onto something in Negan’s hands, and he’s suddenly more alert than he’s been in the past week.

It’s his _damn_ journal.

He feels his eyes widen, in anger and in fear. Every other part of his body feels numb and heavy. He thinks his lip might be quivering.

“What are you doing?!?” He cries out, quickly snatching the book from his roommates hands. He doesn’t dare look at what page he may’ve been reading, he just clutches the thing to his side and swallows down the hard lump of embarrassment that’s clumped in his throat. Then he meets Negan’s eyes, and the wrath of God actually possesses every tiny atom in his body because this asshole is _fucking smirking_  , looking like he just won the god damned lottery- and didn't he just look like a deer in headlights not even two seconds ago.

“What does it look like I’m doing?”

Rick’s eyes narrow into mean slits, and his head tilts to the side as if it’ll help him understand whatever the hell goes on in Negan’s head. “Invading my _fucking_ privacy, is what it looks like you're doing!” He can’t recall a time in his life where he’s ever cursed at anyone. He also can’t recall ever feeling this angry.

_First for everything._

The older man mockingly tilts his head. His grin is bright and jolly, purposefully making Rick’s blood boil. “You’re so adorable,” he coos, “Look at you, all angry and red with your chest puffed out. Bet you’ve never gotten this mad before, huh? You’re too sweet.”

Rick’s breathing is heavy with rage, his jaw locked tight. Negan was right, and while Rick wasn’t one to stick with his pride, this was the worst time for Negan to be right.

“ _You. Don’t. Know. Me._ ” He grits out each word, slow and seething. His eyes bore into the other man’s.

Negan is unphased, “After reading your little diary, I feel like I’ve known you my _whooole fucking life_.”

“Fuck you,” He growls, and if his lip wasn’t quivering before, it sure is now.

“Yeah, baby,” His body slinks back, and he actually starts laughing, “ __Fuck me._ ” _

He’s shaking at this point, body wound tight with rage, and frustration filling his eyes with tears that threaten to spill over.  
" _GET OUT!_ ” Rick yells it so abruptly, he sees flecks of his own saliva fly out in front of him.

Negan doesn’t budge, but the twisted amusement has left his face, a look of pure shock taking its place. His dark rimmed eyes look at him like he has two heads made of glass, and Rick just wants him to leave now more than ever.

“Get out,” he repeats, voice calmed down, though it wavers.

Negan just keeps on staring at him with those big fucking eyes, and it’s what makes Rick snap again.

He gives a hard shove to the taller man’s chest, hard enough to make him stumble backwards, but he doesn’t fall. “Get _out_ of my room, you fucking asshole! _”_

Rick’s voice breaks and the tears fall.

Negan gathers himself. His eyes study the younger man's face for a few seconds more, and then he saunters away.

Rick stays standing beside his bed, journal in hand,  until he hears the click of the other man’s door closing shut.

He gets in his bed, lays over the covers, and stares at the ceiling with his pathetic, tear-stained eyes. Everything is quiet. No music plays.

He knew he’d been right to choose not to write anything about Negan in his journal. At least not anything too conspicuous. Still the embarrassment remains constant.

It feels like years before Rick's heart starts beating at a normal pace, before his body stops feeling so tingly and heavy. He’s nearly fallen asleep again when there’s a knock on his door.

“Rick?” Negan calls. His voice is even, but tense around the edges.

He doesn't answer.

“Rick, I know you’re awake. You took two huge ass naps today.”

He fights off the urge to respond, reminding himself of the journal underneath his pillow, of the pen nestled between its spiraled rungs. His chest aches, and he wishes it didn’t.

“Your light’s on, for God’s fucking sake! I know you’re not sleeping.”

Rick gets up, walking to the light switch by the door. He can almost hear Negan’s anticipation at the sound of his footsteps. He turns the light off, the flick of the switch like sweet music to his ears.  

He hops back into bed.

“Yeah, I deserve that,” Negan sighs from the other side of the door. “Goodnight, Rick.”

He listens to the sound of the other man's feet dragging on his way back to his room, feels the muted longing in his chest. He wonders when his life became so zig and so zag. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> songs mentioned:  
> 'mojo pin' and 'last goodbye' (the 90s romcom pop song) by jeff buckley  
> 'drain you', 'come as you are', and 'something in the way' by Nirvana.

Rick doesn’t know how long he’s been staring at the ceiling above his bed. He can’t sleep. He doesn’t want to study, he doesn’t want to write. In fact, when he thinks about his journal and his pen, and all the content in the pages between, he feels a twist in his gut. His mind is back to that steady buzz of  _ NeganNeganNegan _ \- that buzz that his mindless writing helped him forget, even if it was just for a little while.

It’s been hours since Negan quit knocking on his door, and those hours have been full of nothing but silence and a mind full of stormy thoughts that he’d love to lock away in some place dark and desolate. But now, when Rick listens carefully, he swears he can hear something like music. He gets up from his bed, and presses his ear against the door to get a better listen. It was  music, sure enough, but it was playing unusually quiet, even for Negan’s taste. 

Rick reluctantly opened his door, at first just a crack, but then he found himself out in the hallway. Now he could hear the smooth voice of a man on a record singing against the haunting sparkle of a guitar melody. 

_ I’m lying in my bed, the blanket is warm, this body will never be safe from harm… _

Rick listened intently to the words as they washed over him in their lines. The man's voice gave him the same feeling that Beth’s had, but the words this man sang felt much more complicated, a lot more inquisitive.

_ If only you’d come back to me. If you laid at my side. I wouldn’t need no Mojo Pin to keep me satisfied. _

He felt like a fool standing in the pitch blackness of the hall, equal parts away from Negan’s and his own room. He was drawn to the other man’s door for many reasons, apart from the weird music that played, but a small, failing feeling in his chest told him not to give in so easily, to hold on to his pride just a little longer. 

His anger hadn’t totally subsided, but now he was too tired to be full of rage. Still a part of him wanted to know why Negan was in his room going through his things. He knew it wasn’t just because the man was an uninhibited asshole with little to no understanding of privacy, though that factor definitely played a role in the part. 

He knocked on Negan’s door, meek and hesitant.

“I’ll turn down the music, alright?” Came a voice.

He sounded tired, and Rick wondered if he should let him be, let him go to sleep, and let this whole situation die down and fade away like the music playing in Negan’s room.

Maybe the passive side of Rick would, but right now he was riding on a wave of exasperation and curiosity, and he could not let something like this happen again. 

“I need to talk to you.” He says sternly.

There was a brief silence, and then the door was open, revealing Negan dressed in a white cotton t-shirt and  _ those fucking shorts . _ Rick huffs a harsh sigh through his nose. As if this wasn’t already challenging enough.

They eyed each other for a moment, before the younger man gave in.

“Do you really have to be wearing those?” He asks, because he  _ has  _ to know. 

Negan scoffs, “What do you want me to fucking wear to bed? A damn 3-piece tuxedo?”

His biting tone made Rick narrow his eyes, “ _ Don’t _ talk to me that way. Especially not after what you did.”

The older man didn’t dare push or prod. He settled for rolling his eyes, and said, “Look, it’s two in the fucking morning, just tear my ass up for reading your shit, and we can both be on our merry way.”

“We both know that’s not what I’m here to do,” Rick says, voice even. 

“Do we now?” 

“ _ Yes, _ we do,” He says, in matter of fact, “Why the hell would you knock on my door if you knew you were just gonna get chewed out?”

Negan smirks, but his eyes lack their usual mirth, “Maybe I’m into that kinda shit.”

It was Rick’s turn to roll his eyes now, “Maybe you are, but I know that’s not why you knocked on my door.”

The other man stayed silent, staring blankly at Rick with his smudgy eyes.

“You knocked on my door because you wanted to explain yourself. You wanted to apologize.”

It was a shot in the dark, really. Just a theory he had conjured up- that he so badly wanted to be true- while he spent those hours staring at his ceiling. It was plausible, but still Rick felt silly acting like he knew what exactly his roommate was thinking. 

More silence follows, and then Negan turns back into his room. Rick follows suit, trying and failing to keep his eyes on the white of the man’s shirt instead of the black of his shorts. Negan doesn’t tell him to leave.

They sit down on Negan’s bed. Things are quiet, but surprisingly not uncomfortable.

Rick looks around, sees a record player set up in the corner of the room spinning the music that had brought him to Negan’s door. It plays softly still, but now it’s a different song. There’s multiple crates of vinyl records lying on the floor besides dirty clothes and strewn-about shoes. Posters of different men with guitars dress up the walls, as well as other cool-looking people. Some of them Rick recognizes, albeit vaguely, most of them he doesn’t. There’s a guitar lying on the bed, the same one that Negan had used to play for him, and there’s a stack of multiple guitar cases on the other side of the room, just beside a bookshelf stocked full of CDs and DVDs. He wonders what the guitars lying in them look like. He wonders how long it’ll be until one of them speaks.

He looks at the alarm clock on Negan’s night stand. 

_‘ 2:48 a.m.’ _ it reads, in a garish red. 

“Who’s this?” Rick asks, in attempt to start a conversation. He nods his head towards the record player to clarify, but it’s in vain; Negan isn’t looking at him.

He seems to understand just fine, though. “Jeff Buckley.”

Rick remembers the name from his conversation with Negan just yesterday after class. It’s the name of the man he’d compared Beth’s voice to, and now that he’s heard both of their voices, he thinks it’s a fair comparison.

Another silence falls, another song starts. This one sounds like it could be in teenage rom-com from the 90s, all moody and croony, but still very pop and still very heartfelt. The song is about to hit the chorus when Negan suddenly speaks.

“I could’ve gone to college,” he says, “Well, I  _ did _ go to college for a while.”

Rick says nothing, just listens.

“I had a scholarship, full paid, for some university in Washington. I wasn't smart, or anything. It was for baseball.”

“Didn't know you played baseball..” Rick says.

Negan smiles, but it’s weak around the edges. “Yeah, there's a lot of things we don't know about each other. You said something like that.”

He lets that sink in. 

A part of him wishes that it wasn’t true and that he hadn’t said that, but it was and he did. 

“I liked baseball. It was fun, but it wasn't what I wanted to do. It wasn't what made me happy, but it didn't make me miserable, and since I was fucking good as hell at it, I kept to it. Figured it was the only way to make something of myself.”

Rick’s never heard Negan sound so serious, so somber.

“But in my senior year of high school, I met a girl. Lucille. She was something else, man. Made me weak at the knees. She turned me on to punk rock, Motown, soul, jazz, blues, and my personal favorite: rock n _fuckin'_ roll. I started playing the guitar, and it changed my whole world. At first I only learned because Lucille would sing whenever I played, but then I realized it was more than that and I didn’t want to admit it, because I thought my life had been all figured out already.”

Negan paused again, this time much longer.

Softly, Rick asked, “How’d you end up in Austin?”

Negan sighed. Rick watched the other man start wringing his hands in his lap.

“Lucille died.” He said bluntly. “She was driving drunk off her ass. She was always so fucking reckless.” 

Rick didn't know what to say. There wasn't much. “I’m so sorry, Negan.” 

The older man shrugs, “I knew all along that I wasn't supposed to be there in Washington. Lucille dying just put everything into perspective. Death does shit like that…. So I packed my bags, and headed to the live music capital of the whole fucking world. Freshly eighteen and on my own, barely been playing guitar for a year. Seven years later, here I am.” 

Rick doesn’t know what to do with this information. It was heavy stuff, and it was thrown upon him so suddenly.

“You’re so young, Rick,” Negan continues, he sounds pained, “So am I, but you’re _ so fucking young. _ Younger than me. I just wanted to know why you were so tired all of a sudden, so I went into your room, trying to find something that would tell me why. I thought maybe you were a pre-med student or something. Then I saw Glenn's sketchpad was still there. I opened it and I looked through it, but I didn't know you started writing in it. Once I started reading, I couldn't stop. It was really something else.”

Rick felt himself flush at the compliment. He looked down at his lap sheepishly.

“I’m uh- I’m majoring in communications… To become a speech therapist.” He said lamely, anticipating his roommate's reaction. 

“Why?” Negan asked after a while.

He shook his head, “Parents said it was a job in high demand.”

“I figured it was something like that,” he says.

Rick looks up, meeting Negan’s sympathetic gaze.

“You’re so young,” he says again after a while, as if Rick doesn’t get it. Maybe he doesn’t. “But who knows how much time you’ve got ahead of you, y’know? You shouldn’t waste it doing something you don’t want to do, something you’re only doing out of fear.”

The record has stopped playing now, no longer filling their gaps of silence. The only sound in the air is the cocktail of their inhales and exhales.

“You always been writing?” Negan's tone is lighter now.

“No,” Rick answers, “Barely started almost a week ago.”

Negan’s eyes widen incredulously, then they dull down as his mouth stretches into a smirk. “So you’re a natural, huh? Shoulda known it. You got them big ole’ sorry-looking, Cobain blue eyes. Angsty writer eyes.”

Rick raises an eyebrow. He fights a smile when Negan gives him a look as if to tell him he is positively insufferable.

“Please tell me you know who I’m talking about.”

He laughs in spite of himself, “Not even a little.”

The older man groans comically, “Kurt Cobain from _MOTHERFUCKING Nirvana?!?_ ”

“Oh! I know Nirvana.. Kinda.” It's not a lie. He’s heard Smells Like Teen Spirit.

A look of relief spreads across his face. “Good… For now, at least,” Negan gets up from the bed, making his way to one of the many crates stocked with records. He pulls one out with ease, knowing exactly where it lay.

In his hands is an album with a picture of a naked baby in a swimming pool on the cover. Rick recognizes the artwork, because he doesn’t live  _ completely  _ under a rock. 

“In the meantime, I’ll have to get you acquainted with his work.”

They listen to Nirvana way into the wee hours of the morning. Rick has a class at 8am, but he doesn’t have the heart to tell Negan.

His favorite songs on _Nevermind_ (Rick soon finds out that’s the name of the famous album) are _Drain You_ , _Come As You Are_ , and _Something In The Way_. 

That Kurt Cobain sure has a way of putting words together.

-

Midterms come and go. Rick passes them all with flying colors, and his 4.0 reigns on, much to his surprise. The bags under his eyes are evidence of his labor. 

He’s been reading a lot more too, as if the writing hadn’t already taken away from the 5 hours of sleep he gets on the average night. He enjoys it though. He never thought books could be so much fun whenever you’ve found just the right one for you. He also did not know  _The One Who Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest _ was based off of a book, so he’s definitely been occupied.

Today though, he’s trying to be social  instead of laying in his bed all day reading and writing and listening to Negan talk shit and play guitar.

He’s out for coffee with Maggie and Glenn at a quaint little cafe. He’s never been much of a caffeine fiend, but the two of them take one look at Rick’s pitiful state and order him the most buzzed up drink on the menu. It tastes horrible, but they tell Rick to thank them later. 

“So, Mr. Four Point O, what are you doing for spring break?” Maggie asks. Glenn’s sitting by her side, quietly devouring pastries as he listens in on the conversation.

Rick sits up higher in his seat all of a sudden, eyes widening.  _ Shit . _ He forgot about Spring Break.

“Geez, that coffee kicked in fast.”

“I forgot about Spring Break.” He says, a little too fast.

“How the hell do you forget about Spring Break?” Glenn asks with his mouth full, “It’s all I’ve been thinking about since the semester started.”

“I don’t know,” he says, disbelieving of his own self, “I’ve just had so much shit going on, I guess.”

“Negan giving you a hard time?” Maggie asks, voice sympathetic.

Rick feels a chuckle tickle at his chest as he fights off a smile that twitches at the corner of his mouth. “Nothing major.” 

Ever since that talk they had late one night- the one about Negan dropping out of college, and Lucille's unfortunate death, and Rick's writing- things have gotten a lot more.. friendly? Flirty, maybe? They spend a lot more time together, that's for sure. It's not much with their schedules and everything, but it's something. It really means something.

They listen to music together and Rick lets Negan read some of his writing. He even lets him give his opinions, which are always very kind. In return, Negan shows Rick all these guitar riffs and ideas he's come up with for the band, which the younger boy genuinely enjoys. Sometimes they'll just spend their time talking to each other; Negan talking about his work at the record store, a cool part in a song he really likes, or things going on in the band, which consists mostly of Beth and Daryl's conspicuous sexual tension- and Rick talking about Langston Hughes, or shit talking his professors, or telling Negan whether or not he liked this artist that he had made Rick listen to. 

It's all very nice. 

The couple before him, who are unaware of all of this, seem to be taken back by the casualness his voice exudes.

“You be careful, Rick,” Glenn says, “You’re a good looking guy. He’ll pounce on you.”

He feels a wave of heat flush his skin, “Um.. Okay?”

Maggie stifles her laughter.

“I’m just saying! It’s happened to me! One day he’ll look at you with those smoldering eyes just a  _ little _ too closely, maybe grab you too friskily, and you’re gonna have to tell him ‘Hey buddy, I don’t swing that way and I  _ really _ don’t dig how you just grabbed my ass!’. But that’s all you’ll have to say and he should leave you alone.” Glenn finishes contently, just about ready to re-avert his attention to the last donut on his plate when his head whips back up, “Shit, unless you do swing that way? My bad, I shouldn’t assume things like that.” 

Rick’s skin burns further, “I- Uh- I.. don’t know how I ... swing.”

Glenn shrugs, clearly unphased, and goes back to eating his final donut. Maggie on the other hand, senses Rick’s discomfort and says, “Eh, who really knows what they like anyways? Labeling stuff like that just makes things complicated. Life’s already complicated enough as it is.”

“You said it.” He says, a small smile finding its way onto his lips.

 

When they've all said their goodbyes and he’s walking back home, he thinks he feels a little lighter. 

 

-

“What are you doing for Spring Break?” Rick hears again the question again, but this time it’s from Negan.

He was lying on the couch watching _Forrest Gump_ on TV when his roommate decided to crash his party of one, sitting on Rick’s feet until he gave in, and finally made room for the older man to sit. 

“I don’t know,” he answers, “Probably nothing.”

“Nothing? It’s Spring fucking Break! What are you, seventy-three?”

He huffs. “Do I  _ look _ seventy-three?”

A smirk erupts on Negan’s face and Rick immediately knows where this is going.

“Baby, you  _ know _ you look damn good.”

“Oh God... Shut up,” Rick says, the smile on his face betraying him.

Negan laughs, enjoying the bright red flush that appears on the younger boy's cheeks.

When things are quiet a moment later, the older man says, “Come to my show.”

Rick quirks an eyebrow, “Your show? When?”

“Me, Beth, and Daryl are playing The Pig for three nights during Spring Break. Still don’t have a solid bass player, but we found this guy named Dwight to fill in.”

“Do you guys have a name yet?”

“No, not really. I was thinking something classy like 'Negan and the Neganites', but no one was down for that. Boring motherfuckers.”

Rick laughs, “Real classy.”

Negan chuckles, then says, “Actually, we played at this bar not too long ago and this wild fucking fella and his friends come up to us after the show when we’re loading our gear and he says ‘You guys are gonna be the saviors of rock and fucking roll! Rock and roll has come back to life and you guys are the fucking saviors!’ Beth thought that was cool, and people started calling us that, so The Saviors kind of stuck. Personally I wouldn’t have chosen that name cause it sounds like some unoriginal Christian Rock band, and it’s just ego-stroking as hell.”

“I think it fits. You strike me as someone who likes to have their ego stroked,” Rick teases, unaware of the double entendre until the words leave his mouth.

“I do like my ego stroked, among many other things.” He waggles his eyebrows, “But I like to forget about ego when it comes to music.”

"Ok."

"Ok what?"

“I’ll go to your show,” Rick says.

Negan’s eyes widen in unabashed surprise, “Really?” He grins smugly, "I knew you wouldn't let me down, Ricky."

"I’m not doing anything anyways,” he says, though he would’ve gone even if it was during finals week, “Just tell me where The Pig is and what time the show starts.”

The older man's grin widens, “Oh, don’t you worry your pretty little head about that! Rick Grimes, you’ll be riding V-I- motherfucking -P!”

Rick doesn’t ask about the extent of the word VIP.  He’ll know when it all comes along. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! As always, constructive criticism is always welcome. I'd love to hear what you have to say! :)  
> Also sorry for any typos.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs mentioned in this chapter include  
> 'Sweet Melissa' by The Allman Brothers (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R5XJDxe7TVY)  
> 'Bring It On Home To Me' by Sam Cooke (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gZB4jcPmFGo)  
> 'Cold Shot' by Stevie Ray Vaughan (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fAPo0EMfdLw)
> 
> Enjoy :)

Spring break comes, which brings along The Saviors string of shows at The Pig. Right now they’re loading all the gear they can into Negan’s huge fucking clunker of a van, but even with the room it provides, it’s clear they’ll have to make a second trip.

It’s mid afternoon, and everything in Austin is bright and clear- from the big, friendly trees and the green grass of matching kin, to the puffy clouds that meander at an achingly slow pace across the soft blue of the sky. Negan’s in the driver’s seat with Rick riding shotgun; a comfortable silence resting between the two. Beth and Daryl are in the back seats, their chit-chat and laughter mingling peacefully with the sweet sound of the Allman Brothers playing softly from the radio. Dwight, Negan tells Rick, is driving in a separate car and bringing his own equipment, since he lives outside the city.

Rick can feel the nervous excitement radiating from the three of them like kindergarteners on a school bus anticipating a class trip. It’s refreshing to see a group of people with a lust for life, especially when they’re people he considers friends. 

He spent the last few days watching the band rehearse, and boy are they a real fistful. Before moving in with Negan, he didn't know much of anything about music, so maybe his opinion isn't worth much, but he thinks they’re fucking amazing.

Sometimes Beth’s voice is like a crushing blow to the gut and then Negan’s guitar will come in like a nurturing mother, cooing and crying. But it can also goes both ways, and the sum is a perfect balance of powers. A call and response kind of game that is intense no matter which way one would approach it.

Then Daryl’s there to keep it all steady and full of groove, and while he had been able to do that just fine all by himself, with Dwight in the mix, the rhythms have become even more solid. There’s an easy rapport between the two, and to Rick it seems like they’ve been playing together for years, not just a few days.

And he can say that about the band as a whole, too. There’s so much talent in that group it puts Rick in a daze. Yet there’s no big heads- or at least none have been on display- and he thinks it’s because all four of them have worked so hard to sound or play as good as they do while still managing to make a living. And they’re not bitter about that either, because they all love what they’re doing so dearly. 

Needless to say, Rick’s more than excited to see how people receive The Saviors. Glenn and Maggie promised to come and see the show, after Rick had managed to talk them into it, and he’s so ready to see their reaction. He knows they’ll love it. 

“Rick, turn it up!” Beth hollers, snapping the younger man out of his thoughts. He does as he’s told, and as he pays more attention to the words being sung out, he quickly recognizes the song from the band’s rehearsals.

“It’s Bring It On Home!” Beth says, her voice an earful of shrill enthusiasm. She leans up against Negan’s seat, her chin resting on the shoulder of it, and she says to him, “It’s a fucking sign!  _ This _ is a fucking sign!” Rick wonders if she’s always had a sailor’s tongue, or if her relationship with the man in the driver’s seat had influenced her young mind.

Negan’s smiling hard, trying not to appear as naively ecstatic as the 17-year old girl hollering into his ear. Maybe he’s fooling Beth, but he’s not fooling Rick. Everything on his body reads joy, from the smooth skin on his face to the gloss of his eyes. 

“A sign of what, Beth?” The older man asks calmly, humoring her.

The girl stammers as her mind tries to string together words that can convey the emotion her body and voice so easily express. She turns to Daryl for help as if he might know what’s going through her head. Daryl just looks at her funny, and she continues on, “It’s- It’s a sign of - A sign of..”

She throws her hands up, laughing so freely and infectiously, “I don’t fucking know! But it’s a _good damn sign_!”

They all start to laugh, including Rick, amused by Beth’s shenanigans.

“We’re going to give the best damn show The Pig has ever seen!” Beth yells as she sits back down in her seat, and turns to give Daryl a wild look and a shake of the shoulders. 

“Negan’s gonna shred like a fucking cheese grater. Daryl, you’re gonna be like a fucking giant, banging a gong like your life depends on it, while Dwight lays down the thunder with his Rickenbacker, and me? Me- I’m gonna sing like someone told me my Daddy just died. We’re gonna kill them all, man.”

Negan’s cracking up, swerving the car to the side enough to where Rick has to put his hand on the steering wheel to re-situate everything until the older man pulls himself together.

Daryl shakes his head, though he’s laughing too, “You’re too fucking much, girl.”

“Are you fucking on something?” Negan asks through shrill fits of laughter.

Beth chuckles low and mellow, “Yeah, I smoked a jay and a half before you picked me up.”

Rick thinks that has something to do with weed, and now as he looks at her again, he notices her ultra glossy, dilated pupils, and how the red in her eyes makes the blue look bluer.  

“Sorry Bethy, you can’t even talk about weed or Rick will get a contact high,” Negan jokes, shooting the younger man a playful look.

Beth laughs especially loud, shoves his shoulder lightly, “Oh, Rick! Live a little.”

Little does she know, this is the most alive he’s felt in a long, long time.

-

VIP, aside from the luxurious van ride to The Pig, means Rick gets to watch The Saviors play from the green room, which is set up just beside the stage. The band has finished soundcheck, which when you sum it up, was just Beth howling monosyllabic groans and grunts into the mic and Negan making weird, ambient noises on his guitar while Dwight and Daryl played something steady behind all of the madness, and they go on in less than an hour, so the atmosphere behind the scenes is nothing less of collected chaos. 

Beth is painting her eyes with whatever it is people use as makeup, and simultaneously  belting out melodies and scales, cursing whenever her faulty hand causes her to mess up her work. She’s still awfully high, and it seems as if the paranoia that the drug induces has finally caught up with her. 

Daryl on the other hand is as cool as a cucumber, banging his drumsticks rhythmically against the arm of the leather love seat he and Dwight- who’s nodding and swaying his head to his friend’s makeshift beats- are sitting on. Dwight’s girlfriend Sherry is sitting in his lap, satiated with the noise in the air as her arm hangs around her boyfriend’s shoulders.

Negan and Rick are sitting on the couch adjacent to them, the former of the two playing a few licks on his back-up guitar as a means to deplete the nerves he’s trying so hard not to let show.

Rick sees them however, senses it in how the older man has gone relatively silent, zoning out of his worldly surroundings and into the instrument he holds in his hands. He wishes there was something he could do or say to relieve him of his worry, but he knows from experience there isn’t much that could help.

Still, when the guitarist curses under his breath after his fingers falter on the strings, Rick says, as gently as the raucous in the room allows, “Hey, you guys will be fine out there. You know that, right?”

Something in Negan's eyes goes soft, like a breeze blew in a second of calm, then his lips morph from a small, sweet smile into an easy smirk and his dark eyes recollect their mischievous mirth.

“Now I do, angelface,” he says, just for the two of them to hear.

Rick’s skin burns a petal pink, but it’s a fair price to pay for Negan’s peace of mind.

“Besides, if it all goes to shit we can just get Beth to flash her tits,” He says, loud enough for everyone in the room to hear.

“I’m seventeen, you dick motherfucker.”

“Shit,” Negan curses, apologetically, “Sorry, I forget sometimes.”   
  


When it’s only ten minutes to showtime, Rick gets a text from Maggie saying she’s arrived with Glenn and the place is nearly packed. It’s a small venue, but when he tells the others this, they react as if they’ve struck gold.

Then it’s time for The Saviors to hit the stage, but before they do, they go around trading eager hugs and sharing words of excitement into each other’s ears a little too loudly. He’s just finished receiving a nearly fatal bear hug from both Beth  _and _ Daryl at the same time, when Negan approaches him with an insufferably huge grin. His eyes are nearly squinted shut with the power of it, the lines surrounding them prominent and happy. Rick’s face can’t help but mirror the other man’s, and then he’s being swallowed up into a strong pair of arms, his feet leaving the floor momentarily. 

He yelps in surprise before a fit of laughter consumes his body, and then he’s wrapping his own arms tight around Negan’s shoulders. He feels the older man’s smile nuzzled in the crook of his neck, and then he’s pulling away looking at Rick in a way he never has before.

Rick barely has time to breathe before there’s a pair of warm lips on his, and it feels like the span of the world’s entire existence has gone on in that one second, and then it’s over. Negan pulls away from the younger boy completely, and Rick sees it in his eyes, the indefinite cocktail of surprise and fear and disbelief at what just happened. It’s everything he’s sure is written so clearly on his own face.

Not a word was said throughout the whole exchange, and then Negan’s walking backwards on stage, staring at Rick with that look of complete awe until he finally has to turn away, strapping on his guitar and leaving the younger man’s sight.

“You two are such a cute couple,” Sherry says fondly, “How long have you been together?”

He hadn’t noticed the girl was at his side, watching the stage with him until he heard her voice.

He clears his throat hard, “We’re- we’re not together.”

She gives him a knowing look, her voice full of sympathy as she places a gentle hand on his arm and says, “Oh, honey.”

-

The show does not go as expected.

The crowd consists mostly of frat boys and old conservative men who’ve had a little too much to drink and were expecting the country music that is a typical Texan precedent. By the middle of their third song, which was a cover of an old blues tune, the crowd is full of groans and boos and rude remarks. If there was a good reaction from anyone, it is not to be heard from where Rick’s standing, let alone where the band is playing.

“I told Dwight, don’t play The Pig. People here don’t have the same mind as he has. As any of them!” Sherry says, watching the catastrophe. “This is spirit-crushing!”

Rick nods in agreement.

Any thoughts about the kiss he’d received only a few minutes ago are pushed to the side as he watches his friends get ridiculed by nearly hundreds of people.

Some of the rowdier, drunken men in the front begin shouting vulgar things at Beth. Rick wants to rattle some sense into them, tell them she’s only seventeen years old, but he knows they won’t listen to him, or even care.

Beth herself is a raging ball of hot, blue fire. Her body is tense in defense, and the smooth skin of her face is set hard with annoyance. “Say shit like that to me again and I’ll get off here and I’ll beat your ass, man!” He hears her yell, half into the mic and half at the harassers, while Negan’s playing some fills.

Negan is fuming, Rick can see it. If he looks long enough it’s almost as if he can feel it as well. The older man’s skin is blooming red with anger, and maybe even embarrassment. His jaw is set so hard, Rick can see the muscles clenched and the veins popping from his taut neck. He handles his guitar ferociously, forcing mean, dirty sounds from its body. The more he bends and shakes the strings, the more out of tune the instrument becomes, leaving it with a jarring dissonance that fits the situation so well and still manages to sound great, at least to Rick. 

He watches as Negan walks over to Daryl, yelling something at him with a grave look of frustration on his face. Daryl just nods, still remaining calm albeit a little annoyed. Dwight looks disheartened, his fingers moving reluctantly on his bass to compliment the changes Daryl makes to the rhythm. Sherry shouts out words of encouragement and love, but they’re nearly useless against the brashness of the crowd.

As Negan’s walking back to his pedalboard, he locks eyes with Rick, just for a second before averting his gaze with a gray shame. 

His stomach twists, for many reasons.

 

The audience only gets rowdier as time goes on, and Beth and Negan can only contain their fury so well. It’s not long before Negan starts calling out the pricks in the crowd shouting things at Beth. One guy who’s been repeatedly chanting derogatory remarks gets his friends to join in, and the guitarist loses it. He drops his guitar on the ground, and it shrieks out a loud cry of distorted feedback.

“Say that shit again, short-dick motherfucker! Say it! Say it to _me_ , you fucking pussy, not her!” He shouts so loud Rick can hear him even without a mic.

The crowd goes impossibly crazy, throwing beer bottles and bar food. A shot of fear shoots up the younger man’s spine when he sees Negan jump off the stage to confront the idiots in the audience. He opens his mouth to call out to him, to try and stop him, but then a thick hand shakes his shoulder frantically and it demands his attention.

It’s Tyreese, the booking agent there at The Pig and he looks as anxious as Rick feels. “We got to get them off stage, they’re gonna start a fucking riot if they do not evacuate right now!”

Rick nods too fast, “Okay, okay, yeah,” he says, following the burly man onto the stage. 

Sherry quickly grabs Dwight, tells him to leave his bass, and they head into the green room. Daryl helps Tyreese escort Beth, shielding the two from the dark glass that’s seems to be falling around them like confetti.

Rick looks into the crowd, searching for Negan. He finds him not far from the stage, in a tussle with numerous men. He feels his eyes widen as they land upon the stream of blood flowing down from the guitarist’s nose and brow and onto his thin white t-shirt. The opposing men don’t look any better, however, maybe even worse.

“Negan!” Rick yells at the top of his lungs, calling out to the older man in vain. His voice is just a drop in the ocean. 

He watches helplessly as the man who kissed him not even an hour ago grows fatigued, the bloody mess on his shirt and face growing by the second as the drunken strangers get their blows in. 

Before he can even think, he finds himself following Negan’s footsteps, jumping off the stage and into the crowd, making his way to the assholes that yelled all those horrible things at Beth, specifically the one who’s making a bloody pulp of his roommate.

He pushes the stranger off of Negan, throwing him off greatly as he lands a punch square in the drunk man’s face. He hears a sickening crunch, and the guy staggers to the ground. He tries hard to get back to his feet, but surrenders as a steady stream of crimson flows down his nose. 

“Rick!” Negan yells raggedly, as he’s fighting off the first drunken man’s friend, “What the fuck are you doing?”

“I came down here to get _your_ stupid ass!” He yells back, easily shoving off another disoriented drunk that dared to mess with him.

Negan says nothing back, too busy trying not to get punched again. They fight for a few minutes more, receiving more blood, fatigue, and punches each, until Tyreese and Glenn make their way through the crowd, plucking the two from the mob like a couple of unsung heroes, and leading them backstage where everyone resides with haggard looks on their faces. 

But the green room isn’t much of a safe haven either.

As they walk in they’re immediately met with the sounds of Maggie and Beth yelling at each other at the top of their lungs. 

“What the fuck is going on?” Negan asks, turning to Glenn for answers. Rick looks to him, too.

“Beth is Maggie’s sister. She hasn’t seen her in almost a year.” Glenn explains, and he sounds as beat up as Rick and Negan look.

“This is what you left school for? To play in dive bars and get shit talked by drunken imbeciles? Is this what you want to do for the rest of your life?” Maggie cries.

The two of them are standing by the back exit near the stage The Saviors just got off of, all up in each other’s space. Maggie, though only a few inches taller, seems to tower over Beth, who’s standing with her shoulder’s slumped in defeat.

“Shut up, Maggie,” she says, tiredly, “You don’t understand it. Not one bit.”

“ _Don’t _ tell me to shut up, Beth! You think Daddy would be proud of this?”

Beth is silent. 

Everyone else watches intently, listens closely to the argument that makes the ongoing banter of the audience seem like child’s play. 

“Do you think _Momma_ would be proud of this? Look at you, you got your face done up like a Goddamn prostitute. What would she say?”

Beth squares up, looking her sister straight in the eyes, “She wouldn’t say _shit_. She’s fucking dead.”

Then Maggie’s hand strikes the younger girl’s cheek, the force of it causing her head to turn with the momentum.

Things are silent, and Maggie’s face reads full of regret.

Beth turns to Rick, “You shouldn’t have told her to come,” She says stiffly, holding in tears. Then she’s storming out through the exit, Maggie following close behind despite her sister’s protests.

“I- I didn’t know,” Rick says lamely, though Beth is gone.

Glenn sighs, putting a hand on his friend’s shoulder, “It’s not your fault, man. This was meant to happen.” And then he’s out of the door, chasing after his girlfriend.

 

The rest of them- Negan, Rick, Sherry, Dwight, and Daryl- settle onto the couches. None of them have spoken, not since Sherry invited the lot of them to a sage smudging ritual at her house after the band gets their equipment back. Everyone declined her offer, and things went silent.

No one says anything about the failure of the show, but it's on everyone's minds. Rick looks over at Negan multiple times, trying to weigh the man over and over in his head. Negan doesn't look back at him.

He thinks about the kiss, wonders if maybe it set up a bad omen and ruined everything good they'd been expecting, as if a kiss could have that much power. Maybe the disastrous events that took place after the kiss were a sign that whatever's going on between he and the older man shouldn't be happening, Rick thinks. Maybe its God or someone telling him that being gay is a sin.

Rick shuts off his brain. That last thought sounded too much like his father, or the pastor at the church he used to go to when he still lived at home. Thankfully, at that moment, Tyreese enters the room, looking at all of them with kind, sympathetic eyes. In his hands are two makeshift ice packs, just ice cubes in a plastic bag, wrapped in a towel. He hands one to Rick and Negan each, the two of them uttering their thanks yous.

“No problem, y’all,” he says, and then he sighs deeply, “I did not think the crowd would react like that, man. These fools wouldn't know a good thing if it was growing out their side.”

Negan smiles, his bottom lip swollen and split, “Ain't that just as sweet as a honeybee’s shit.”

Tyreese gives a hearty laugh before saying, “The Pig’s decided to pay y’all for the three nights anyways, as an apology for the inconveniences. Maybe ya’ll can play here some other time, when you’re so big you can buy this whole place with the money in your back pocket.”

“Don’t hold your breath on that one, buddy,” Negan says with a self-deprecating chuckle.

 

When the crowd has died down considerably, everyone grabs their gear, loading it into their respective vehicles. Daryl decides to hitch a ride with Dwight and Sherry, so all Rick and Negan have to load into the van is a couple of guitars, some sizable amps, a pedalboard, and everything Beth left behind.

The guitarist is especially quiet, and reasonably so. Rick doesn’t know if he should say anything, whether it be about the show, or the kiss that happened before it all. He figures he needs to give it time, that Negan has too much on his mind right now, and the last thing he needs is Rick pestering him about a peck on the lips.

“Shouldn’t have played the fucking Pig,” Negan says while they’re loading the last of their gear into the van, “Too many fucking redneck assholes.”

Something in his tone makes Rick furrow his brows. “You can’t let them get to you. They just weren’t expecting music like what you guys play, is all.”

“Yeah,” Negan agrees somberly.

Once everything is in its place, the two of them get into the van, and begin their drive home.

As he’s sitting quietly in the passenger’s seat for the second time today, he notes how everything now is such a stark contrast to how it was earlier in the day. 

Beth and Daryl no longer fill the backseat with joyful noise and warm bodies. The sky is dark and muggy, the moonlight sheathed by thick clouds, begging to be pulled through. There is no music playing like before- everything is resting in a tense silence, no sweet, sparkling sounds of the Allman Brothers to be found.

But it’s only a matter of time before Negan’s hand reaches out to turn on the radio, and Rick quickly recognizes the song: a number by Stevie Ray Vaughan that the The Saviors were planning on playing as their final song of the night.

Like clockwork, the two boys heads turn to meet each other’s gaze, and there’s a silliness in each pair of eyes.

Rick studies the cuts and bruises that dress the older man’s once untarnished skin, all the violent violets and maroons. He knows he must look just as bad and he can’t help but laugh, at first just stifled chuckles but then Negan joins in and it turns into both of them gasping for air, tears threatening to spill over their eyes as Rick yells for Negan to get his shit together and drive right.

“What a fucking night, man,” Negan says, when he’s calmed down a bit, a funny grin sitting on his face.

Rick laughs his last bit, then says, “This time last year I was playing bingo with my parents and Lori, now I’m getting into bar fights in the wee hours of the night.” He can’t help but laugh some more, just so completely incredulous of his life. He’s got gashes on his face that are starting to sting, and his knuckles are a bruised plum, but he’s never felt so happy.

Negan is quiet for awhile, letting the younger man’s words weigh easy in his brain. Stevie Ray Vaughan is still playing on the radio, singing about his love running cold. The younger boy reaches out to turn it up, and Negan lets out an amused laugh.

Then he’s making a sharp turn, and Rick nearly bangs his head on the window at his side.

“Where are we going??” 

The mischief is back on the older man’s face, and Rick is both relieved and a bit scared.

“We’re goin’ to see Stevie.” He answers, and immediately Rick knows where they’re going. 

 

When they get to the bronze statue of the famous guitarist, the park is nearly vacant, save from a few people across the grass, drinking and doing what have you. Negan leaves the van quickly, urging the younger man to follow along. Rick does as he’s told, watches his roommate rummage through the back of the van, until he pulls out one of his guitars from the case it had been laying in, the same one he had been playing so nervously in the green room before the show had started. It looks like a different guitar now.

They make their way towards the giant, bronze figure of the fallen Texas-born guitarist, Negan plucking a rose from a nearby bush and planting it in the statue’s cold hand before he sits on the platform by its feet. Then he starts banging out the riff of the song that had just been playing on the radio, looking like a kid in a candy store.

When it’s nearing the time for the vocal to come in, Negan looks up at Rick, calling out, “Sing, Rick!”

The younger man guffaws, “You’re crazy! I can’t fucking sing!”

“Do it for Stevie!” He shouts back.

Rick rolls his eyes, but regardless begins belting out the lyrics out of key, “Once was a sweet thing, baby! Held out love in our hands!”

Negan’s honks out a string of hearty laughter, still managing to play his guitar faultlessly, “You sound horrible.”

But there’s no heat behind his words, in fact they might even be a little fond.

“Shut up,” Rick laughs, and he keeps on singing.

Negan joins him in the chorus, and the two are so lost in the song they don’t notice the small handful of people that have come to join them until they hear the voices singing along.

They welcome the stranger’s easily, singing in harmony with ridiculous grins on their faces until the end of the song.

“Wow!” one of the few strangers says. He’s got short blond hair that shines nearly white and a kind, youthful face. “That was so good! I feel like I should pay you, but I don’t have any money.”

“We have fruit!” Says a brown-haired girl of the same age, who’s standing at the blond guy’s side. She’s holding out a basket of peaches. “Do you want some fruit?”

Rick smiles, a little weirded out, but mostly amused, “No thanks. I'm good.”

They shrug, and the blond guy looks to Negan, “Hey man, you do anything with that? You got a group together or something?”

“Yeah, actually, we had one of our first shows today,” He says, “Down at The Pig. Got booed off.. And beat up. That’s why our faces are like this.”

“That’s a real downer, man,” the girl says, “We’d love to see you in action. What’s your band’s name? We’ll keep an eye out for you.”

“We’re called The Saviors.”

“Saviors, huh? I can dig it,” She says, then sticks her hands out, first to Rick then to Negan, “I’m Ana.”

“I’m Sam,” the blond guy says, “can’t wait to see you two play one day.”

“Oh, uh, I’m not in The Saviors. I’m just a friend,” Rick explains.

“No offense, brother, but with a voice like yours, that’s probably for the best,” Ana says, eliciting warm chuckles from Negan and Sam, and her friends standing behind her.

“None taken,” Rick says, smiling wide. 

-

When they get back home, and everything is calm and quiet like the night intends it to, Rick doesn’t feel ready to let the day end. 

He gets to his bedroom door, Negan leaning against the frame, staring at Rick with a honey-like gaze. 

“Today was good.” The younger man says, and he means it despite every misfortune.

“It was.” Negan says, and Rick watches as his gaze falls to his lips. He thinks maybe it’ll happen again, that they’ll kiss and this time it’ll be better than the last. It won’t be rushed and it won’t result in catastrophe. 

But then he sees how the older man’s eyes grow weary and avert their gaze to the ground just for a second before he’s looking back up at Rick.

“Goodnight, Rick.” He says, with a weak smile. Before the younger man can respond, Negan's turning away, walking to his own room.

“Goodnight, Negan.” He says feebly.

They don’t talk about the kiss. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Constructive criticism is more than welcome!  
> Do you guys remember Ana and Sam from TWD? Can't say I did until a few days ago. Just thought I'd give them a shout out.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to try out writing some parts in Negan's point of view. I know this story has been written entirely in Rick's point of view since the beginning, so I hope it doesn't confuse anybody.
> 
> Songs mentioned in this chapter include  
> 'Where Do The Children Play?' by Cat Stevens  
> 'Get It While You Can' by Janis Joplin  
> 'Masters of War' by Bob Dylan  
> 'Rehab' by Amy Winehouse  
> 'Ooo Baby Baby' by The Miracles
> 
> Also if ya wanna follow me on tumblr, go on ahead, my username is @hourgla   
> I mostly reblog stuff about music tho, so be warned.

There’s been many times where Negan’s thought he had it all figured out:

When he was five years old and he wanted to be an astronaut; it's safe to say there was a whole shit ton he didn't know yet, but hey, he was a kid.

When he was seventeen years old, earning everything he had through baseball. To many he was living a dream. To himself it was more his father’s dream, but he was more than happy to live it through, not having known much about all the worlds that existed through music, or much about himself really.

When he was eighteen years old and had moved to Austin with a shitty acoustic and a grief ridden heart after Lucille’s death. He hadn’t made it Beatles big like he was so naively sure he would’ve, but it was the first thing he had ever done entirely for himself, not one spec of consideration taken for another soul. It would become the first of many. He’s a very selfish man as it turns out.

And most recently, when he had found Beth and Daryl -and then Dwight- and gotten a band together. Everything was so magical. So storybook. He began to feel that same giddy feeling he had so often when he was Beth’s age, that surplus of daydream inducing hope. He felt unstoppable, and it seemed like this might be it, that he had _finally_ lived long enough for his life to make sense.

Then that godawful show at The Pig happened and Negan realized he wasn't as invincible as he had hoped, and not just because the crowd was shit and his ego had gone from rock hard ready-to-fuck to grandpa dick flaccid.

He had kissed Rick, and yes, in many ways, there’s a lot of things about that that _aren’t_ fucked up. Human contact is good and Negan likes kisses and _other_ things, just like the majority of the population. It’s not like his body has just _poof_ forgotten about all those good feelings it’s capable of feeling because Lucille died. So yeah, he’s had his fair share of one night stands and late-night hookups in a bathroom stall at your average shady bar.

But this is different. _Rick_ is different. For starters, he’s Negan’s roommate. They can’t just fuck and then forget about it. Maybe in a perfect world, a really perfect world where two roommates could fuck with absolutely no strings or awkward feelings attached.

But even then, and this may be the most fucked up part, Negan doesn't think he’d want to use Rick like that.

Rick is … something else. Something Negan wants despite himself. And maybe he’s known so ever since the moment he saw him on the front porch of their apartment with Glenn and Maggie, looking so meek yet so sturdy- and as hot as the fucking Texas sun.  
Negan’s always been a sucker for blue eyes, especially when they’re as blue as Rick’s, but God, he hasn’t felt this way in _years_.

Honestly, he didn’t think his body or mind or soul or whatever was still capable of feeling _this_. This feeling he doesn’t want to name, because once he names it, it’ll haunt him and everything in his life. It’ll come back and bite him in the ass twice just like it had with Lucille.

So he’ll deal with those terrifying feelings later. Right now, he’s got to get ready for his day.

It’s nearing 7am, and here he is lying nearly naked in his bed, staring at the shitty ceiling of his bedroom as the newborn, yellow sunshine runs in like rain through the windows and gives everything a warm glow. He’d bet money that the sky right now is a great, syrupy orange, with a fiery magenta skirt so rich in color, it almost seems red. So much for being up with the sun.

He skips his yoga today, figures he deserves it and that he needs some time to just lay alone in himself, thinking of everything and nothing at all.

He also really needs some Cat fucking Stevens right now, he discovers, and that alone is enough to get him out of his bed and rummaging through his haphazard record collection. Eventually he finds what he’s looking for, a dusty copy of _Tea For The Tillerman ,_ arguably Cat Stevens’ best work. It’s an original pressing, his Father’s actually, but he tries not to think about that too much as he hasn’t spoken to his Father in years, and he thinks one emotional breakdown is enough for today.

He puts the record on and the fuzzy scratch of the needle is like therapy, a peaceful sound that makes him feel like a baby, awe-stricken by hearing his Mother’s voice. Then the music is playing, and the feeling escalates into something inexpressible. If he tried his hardest to explain the feeling, he’d say it’s something a whole lot like love, and it’s the feeling that’s kept him living for a long time.

Instead of going back to his bed, he retires to the parts of the floor that reside closest to his record player, pathetically curling into the fetal position as Cat Stevens' voice rings warm and kind through his ears.

_I know we’ve come a long way, we’re changing day to day, but tell me, where do the children play?_

The song effortlessly brings him to tears, and he allows himself to cry even if only for a moment.

When the first side of the record has finished playing, he flips it to the second, and then returns to the floor.

He barely gets through another song before he ends up falling asleep, the music nothing short of a lullaby.

 

Some time later, he awakes to a knock on his door. When he comes to his senses, he notices the record on the turntable has stopped spinning. He looks to the alarm clock on the bedside table and strains his eyes to read ‘9:42’.

 _Fuck ._ He’s got to be at work at 11.

Before he can stress on that any further, the knocking reappears, this time with Rick’s slightly reluctant voice calling out his name. He groans loudly because Rick’s voice is the first and last thing he wants to hear right now.

He grabs his glasses off of the nightstand and goes to answer the door.

No surprise, there’s Rick looking too fucking good for someone who wears literally just a t-shirt and jeans _every fucking day-_ but God does he wear it well.

He’s looking at Negan curiously, eyes gazing over his body. The older man watches the flush of bashful color wash over his skin as he realizes that, yeah, Negan’s only in his underwear.

He hates how much he loves Rick’s reaction.

“Yes?” Negan asks impatiently, his voice gruff with sleep.

The younger man’s eyes snap back up to meet Negan’s. So, so blue. Bluer than blue. They could probably be a whole new color on their own.

“I- um- I’m leaving for work right now.” He says.

Something in Negan’s soul warms up at his words, something that hasn’t been warmed in such a long time. He doesn’t know how to react to it other than fighting it.

“And why in the fat fucking hell are you telling me this?” Negan asks, but he knows why.

Rick’s brows furrow, clearly thrown aback by his roommates brashness. His voice carries a heavy ounce of annoyance as he says, “I just thought you’d want to know. Thought this was somethin’ we did.”

This _was_ something they did, telling one another when they were leaving for work or school or anything else. It was a domestic habit that Negan himself had started a few weeks back. He hadn’t thought much of it when it began, he was originally just trying to be polite, but with everything going on inside his head and in his life, he’s been thinking too much about a lot of things.

He sighs, “Hate to break it to you, babe, but I couldn’t give less of a fuck. In fact, my fucks have gone extinct.”

Rick swallows and Negan watches his Adam’s apple bob deliciously in his throat. “Yeah, whatever,” He says sourly, “Just lock up before you leave.”

Then he’s watching Rick walk down the corridor, the floor creaking with every step he takes, and the older man thinks he hears him mutter the words _‘_ _Fucking jerk'_ before the front door is opening and then closing again.

Negan turns back into his room and sighs loud and long, letting all the dirty air leave his lungs.

It’s been a week since the kiss.

-

When he gets to the record store, Beth’s already there sitting behind the checkout counter, feet up and singing along to the Janis Joplin song that’s filling the room. Negan automatically feels a little better having witnessed the sight.

It’s Beth’s first week on the job, and clearly she enjoys her work as much as Negan does.

After The Pig, she had been the one who had taken the worst beating between the four of them, and he understands why. She’s just a damn kid, and a damn kid who is hopelessly full of hope and naivety at that. She has the same mentality Negan had when he first moved here, and though he knows it may not be the smartest way to think, he also knows how soul crushing it can be to have to start thinking differently… or more realistically.

So when she had called Negan the day after The Pig, wasted and crying about Maggie and how she wasn’t good enough to make it in music and how she needed a job, he figured the most he could do was get her a job here. After all, he was the one who suggested they play The Pig, and though he knows it’s unfair to take blame for what happened, he can’t help but do exactly that.

But just as he expected, Beth had easily recuperated not days later, telling Negan that she’d rather spend her life failing at music than succeeding in anything else, and he understood that all too well.

“Hey, kiddo. All’s well?” He greets leaning against the counter before her.

She stops singing for a moment, only to say, “All’s well,” and then she’s back at it.

Negan laughs, honest and deep, before he listens to the words being sung by both Beth and Janis.

_You got no one you can count on, baby, not even your own brother._

_So if someone comes along, He’s gonna give you love and affection. I’d say get it while you can. Don’t you turn your back on love, no, no, no._

He feels those words directed at him like a laser pointed blank at his temple, and immediately he groans, putting his head down on the counter, “Did you put this shit on? Who am I kidding, of course you fucking did. Do you really have to play this shit right now?”

Beth scoffs, “Shut your damn mouth? Do you hear what you’re saying? You love Janis, man! Have some respect, man.”

Negan sighs, rolling his eyes, “I know, I know, I know. This song is just… kicking my ass.”

He doesn’t look up, not wanting to see the smug look on her face that he knows is already there.

“Kicking your ass, huh?” She inquires, and wow, he didn't even  _have_ to look at her, because her tone is just as expressive as her face could ever be.

“Yes, okay?” He says, standing up straight, “and I’m shutting that shit the fuck down.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Beth laughs as Negan makes his way further into the store, searching through the assortment of vinyl the store provides.

He’s not exactly sure what he’s looking for, but anything that doesn't sing a peep about love would be _fucking_   _phenomenal._ However, that leaves him with some pretty slim pickings. He’s about to settle for _Tea For The Tillerman_ again when he sees exactly what he needs. Bob Dylan.

Yup, nothing like political protest songs to take his mind off his own pathetic problems, and onto the World’s messy fuckload of problems.

“ _The Freewheelin’ Bob Dylan_ _?_ ” Beth says, unamused when Negan hands the record to her and tells her to spin it. Her accent gives the title a much needed twang. “You're havin’ me put on Bob Dylan over Janis? Fuck you, dude.”

“C’mon, Janis loved Bobby! Everybody loved Bobby! Jimi, Janis, The Beatles, The Grateful Dead!” When she still eyes the record hesitantly, he tacks on, “I got you this fucking job!”

“Fine!” She yells, and a few of the customers turn to give them odd looks. The regulars know better.

“Put it on _Masters of War_ ,” he says, and she complies, albeit bitterly.

They haven’t even made it to side B before Beth starts complaining again.

“I can’t do this, Negan. I’m sorry, I can’t. His fucking voice is just-” she pinches her nose, and then speaks in a nasal tone, imitating Bob, “so fucking annoying.”

“You gotta look past the voice, Bethy!”

“I can’t! Sometimes I can’t tell his singing from his harmonica playing, that’s how bad it is.”

Negan honks out a hearty laugh, “Man, you’re missing out. Listen to what he's saying! The songs are like novels! I bet even Rick would-” He stops himself immediately.

Beth cocks her head and her grin shifts into something devilish and knowing, “You bet even Rick would what?”

“Nothing,” he murmurs, “Rick would nothing.”

But the girl does not let up, “You were gonna say you bet even Rick would like like Bob Dylan, huh?”

Negan huffs, “So what if I was?”

“Ain’t nothing wrong with that,” she says, a self-satisfied smirk on her face.

Then she’s out of his sight, and when she comes back, she’s got a new record in her hands.

He rolls his eyes, but gives her no trouble about it.

“So is it about Rick?” She asks after Amy Winehouse’s voice begins to fill the store.

“Is _what_ about Rick?”

“Don’t play dumb, asshole,” she says, rolling her eyes with more attitude than necessary, “The reason you have your fucking panties in a twist over Janis Joplin or whatever, does it have to do with Rick?”

“Why would Rick have anything to do with that?” He says, but to no avail. Beth sees right through his act, and he knows that.

“Cuz you think he’s cute,” she teases, drawing out her words and jabbing his shoulder with her long fingers.

He scoffs, swatting her hands away, “What are you fucking twelve? Stop touching me!”

“Well, do you?”

Negan feels his face burn, and Beth takes notice, positively eating it all up.

“ _You do_ _!_ " she gasps, trying hard to contain herself, “I knew it! I fucking knew it!”

He’s about to bring up her and Daryl in an attempt to save his own ass, but he reminds himself he’s a twenty-five year old man and that Beth most likely won’t give a shit because she’s too shameless.

“God dammit,” He mutters in defeat, “Is it that fucking obvious?”

She shrugs casually, “Well yeah, kind of-”

“ _FUCK!_ ”

Beth continues on, “But he is too.”

Negan’s brows furrow, “Wait, what?”

“You can’t fucking tell? I swear, half the time you two are either staring at each other’s asses or looking at each other like a couple of shit eating newlyweds.”

“It’s not that I couldn’t tell it’s just- I, I don’t know-"

“I get it,” Beth says gently, “But now you’ve been honest with yourself, and you can tell him now. You can be with Rick, if you want.”

The innocence in her voice, in all of her, makes Negan’s heart ache. Especially when he thinks about how that part of him is slowly dying out. He’s becoming jaded, but Rick- sweet, sweet Rick- makes him feel like he could get that old part of himself back, and that’s what makes the fear rise out of Negan: the thought of a part of him (if not all of him) being so emotionally dependent on and invested in a human _again_. 

“Look, you two could be like this!” Negan looks over at Beth, who’s holding up _The Freewheelin’ Bob Dylan ,_ pointing at Bob and his girl on the cover, cuddled close together as they walk down the streets of New York in the Winter, and he frowns.

When she notices the discomfort etched on his face, she adds, in attempt to lighten the mood, “But without the snow, y’kno, because of climate change.”

He smiles weakly, appreciating her effort.

“I kissed him,” Negan says after a few long seconds, just to get it off of his chest, “Before the show.”

Beth gives him a concerned look, “You don’t sound too happy about that.”

He swallows hard, “..Yeah.”

She gives him a small smile, and then a long silence washes over them.

Amy Winehouse sings about Rehab and Negan wants to drink until he’s nothing but an alcohol-soaked sponge of flesh. He thinks about going home to Rick, about making him listen to Bob Dylan because he thinks Rick would enjoy it. Then he thinks about kissing Rick, this time long and hard, and doing other things to him. He wonders what the younger man would look like underneath him, what he’d sound like at the mercy of his hands. Bare skin on bare skin. His teeth on Rick’s neck, scraping all the way down his body until he can get his mouth around his cock. _Led Zeppelin I_ playing in the background while Negan rocks into him- _Shit_ _,_ while Rick’s __on top of him_ . _

He feels his dick twitch in his pants, and he wants to bang his head against the wall.

Then Beth’s breaking the silence, her voice quietly singing the same Janis Joplin song that had been playing when Negan arrived, “ _When you're loving somebody, you're taking a gamble against some sorrow...but who knows, baby, cause we may not be here tomorrow. ”_

He knows she’s singing to him, it’s her way of trying to break through his stubborn head as gently as she can, but today it doesn’t even make a dent.

-

Rick’s been having a shitty day, simply put it.

Everything’s been fine. Nothing has been out of the norm. The library was fine, there’s nothing in his work that varies much, if at all. He pretty much does the same thing everyday, but he doesn’t mind it. He might even say the routine is therapeutic in it’s own way.

Class was alright- well, it was as good as it could ever get. He’s got two exams in the next week that he’s got to study for, but that’s nothing, that’s a given.

Everything is as it always was, but Rick isn’t his normal shade of neutral like he once could be, and it’s all because of one thing. Well, one _person_.

He’s laying in his bed, absently writing thoughts into his journal when the door to his room suddenly swings open. He turns his head to see Negan’s swaying figure walking towards him and immediately he notices somethings not right about the man. His gait is looser than usual, his long limbs unusually gangly, and his skin is flushed a drunken shade of red.

He watches in confusion as Negan lays beside him on his bed. When he turns to face Rick with a loopy grin on his face, the younger man sits up uncomfortably, shifting himself away until he’s barely sitting on the bed. “Why are you so drunk, Negan? It’s a Thursday night.”

The older man ignores his question, acts like he didn’t even hear it, and instead asks in a wobbly voice, “Have you ever heard of Bob Dylan? I think... you’d like him.”

His breath reeks of alcohol, making Rick grimace. He chooses to stays silent, just studying the lines of the older man’s face, wondering how it can show so much of something that says so little.

Then Negan’s eyes shift to the journal in the younger man’s lap, and he perks up considerably.

“You writing something new?” He asks, reaching his hand out to walk his fingers against the marked sheets of paper.

Rick responds with a terse, “Yes.”

“Can I read it?” He asks, looking up at Rick with big, glassy eyes as his hand moves unknowingly closer to the younger man’s lap.

“ _No_ ,” he says firmly, quickly yanking his journal out of Negan’s reach. His body goes tense and the other man scoffs.

“C'mon! You always show me your writing!”

Rick narrows his eyes, and lamely says, “Yeah... well not today.”

He briefly wishes it was in his nature to humiliate someone with his words, but unfortunately, that’s not the way it works for him.

“You still mad because I- I yelled at you, Ricky?” Negan stumbles over his words slightly, but somehow still manages to sound so condescending despite his drunkenness.

Rick doesn’t bother to respond, not wanting to waste his breath on Negan when he’s like this, or give him the reaction he craves.

The older man rolls onto his stomach, laughing mirthlessly into one of the pillows he’s taken into his arms.

“Oh, you’re so cute, Rick… Baby,” He says pathetically, and Rick can’t tell if he’s trying to be an asshole or not.

“ _Ooh, baby baby_ _!_ ” He sings, drunken and off-key, making himself laugh.

Rick sighs, but does nothing except give a sorrowful look.

Negan turns onto his back, looking up at Rick with a dopey grin. “Let’s makeout,” he says, mischievous and blunt, “Me, you, right here, right now. What do ya say?”

The younger man grits his teeth, glaring at Negan in hopes that his stare could set him on fire.

“C’mon!” He whines, clearly not burning under Rick’s look, “I’ll put on some Zeppelin, light a few candles. What more could you want? We’ll have us a _real_ good time. Just a little casual fun, nothing else.”

Rick feels his blood begin to boil. _Just a little casual fun, nothing else._

Was that all he meant to Negan? After all this time, is that all Negan wants from him? The thought sends his heart plummeting to his feet, and he has to avert his gaze from the older man’s eyes.

“No,” he shakes his head, surprisingly calm, the anger deflating from his body, “Now get out of my room and go to bed… Please.”

“Your loss,” Negan shrugs, managing to get up off of Rick’s bed with a considerable amount of effort.

“Drink some water,” Rick calls as Negan makes his way out of his room.

-

When Rick gets back from his 8am class the next morning, Negan is just waking up.

He walks into the kitchen, where Rick is sitting at the circle table drinking his third coffee of the day, and he looks miserable. He’s wearing the same clothes he had been wearing last night and his hair is greasy and mussed, sticking out every which way. His eyes are bloodshot red and halfway shut with sleep, his day-old makeup smudged carelessly at random parts of his face as if he had given his eyes a good rub.

“Jesus fuck,” He groans, hands up over his head as he stretches his body taut. Rick tries not to let his eyes wander to the strip of flesh the t-shirt fails to cover, dark hair trailing downwards until it meets the waistband of the older man's jeans. “What time is it?”

Rick swallows, turning his attention back to the mug in his hands. He watches as Negan walks over to the refrigerator, opening it up and lethargically rummaging through it. He finds what he’s looking for, which turns out to be a bottle of Gatorade, and goes to sit in front of Rick.

“It’s 10:38,” he says after sparing a glance at the stove’s clock.

Negan gives an acknowledging hum, cracking open his drink and taking a long chug.

“Man, I must’ve been pretty hammered last night. I woke up and all my Bob Dylan records were on the floor, just laying there like they got hit by a hurricane or some shit,” He laughs lightheartedly and from that Rick assumes he must not remember much of last night.

After a moment of unsteady silence, Negan seems to take a hint.

“Hey,” he says gently, making Rick look up from his now cold coffee, “Did I… say something to you last night?”

There’s a feel of apprehension in his voice that makes the younger man take pity on him.

Rick blinks, shakes his head, “No… No, you didn’t tell me anything.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Constructive criticism is more than welcome! :)


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs mentioned in this chapter include  
> 'Tell It Like It Is' by Aaron Neville  
> 'The Weight' by The Band  
> 'Ooo Baby Baby' by Smokey Robinson and The Miracles (again)

As time goes on, Rick's behavior begins to border on pathetic, no matter how hard he tries for it not to. But then again, he's the same guy that threw away everything purple in his possession after his break-up with Lori, just because it was her favorite color, and he couldn't bare to look at it, so the fact that he expected more from himself is ridiculous.

Negan acts like there's nothing going on between the two of them, and it's _killing_ Rick. All the touching and the words and the looks, it's all torture. Just _looking_ at Negan is torture, because all he can think about when he looks at him is kissing his stupid face and holding his stupid hand and just _being_ with him. But, as far as he knows, Negan doesn't want that, at least not in the same way Rick does.

Today, he's on his way to class, groggy and sulking, the sun blinding him a few times too many and a few hours too early in the morning. He's taking the shortest, most efficient route, like he does everyday, and he's nothing less of grumpy. All the fruits of the early Spring time-  the blooming blue bonnets and the peeping birds and the thick, cool breezes of air- that surround him only serve to feed his angstful indignation.

He's less than a couple blocks away from the Communications Center, which is where he needs to be, when the sound of music meets his ears. He turns his head towards the source of the sound and sees a group of older men dressed in raggedy clothes, instruments in their hands, while they're sitting on buckets in the parking lot of a record store. There's a modest crowd surrounding them, but the men act as if they're the only people left in the world, singing and strumming and drumming and blowing without a care in the world while sweat drips off their skin like their whole body is crying.

It wouldn't be the first time Rick has heard music on the streets on his way to class, but today, it's the first time he actually stops to listen.

He strays from the sidewalk, jogging across the street until he's one with the crowd.

Up close, it's magical. The vocal of the group has a voice so loud and full, Rick wonders what his lungs look like, but he wastes no time lingering on that thought, and instead listens intently to what that voice is singing.

_If you want something to play with, go and find yourself a toy._

_Baby, my time is too expensive, and I'm not a little boy._

_If you are serious, don't play with my heart, it makes me furious._

_But if you want me to love you, then, baby, I will, you know I will._

_Tell it like it is._

_Don't be ashamed to let your conscience be your guide_

_But I know deep down inside of me, I believe you love me, forget your foolish pride._

_Life is too short to have sorrow_

_You may be here today and gone tomorrow._

_You might as well get what you want, so go on and live._

_Baby, go on and live._

Rick nearly laughs in disbelief, but instead he just shakes his head in awe. No matter how many times it happens, he will never stop being amazed by music and it's all-knowing power that so timely sends you a song that fits your life and sorrows like a glove. It doesn't have to be a matter of words either, Rick has learned. It could just be a beat, or a bell; a certain tone of voice or guitar, or the thump of a bass.

He knows he wouldn't have come to see music in the light that he does now without Negan and his incessantly joyous disposition towards the art. Before, he just saw music as entertainment, as a distraction- and it can be that, but it can also be so much more.

Like right now, the rich timbre of the trumpet sounds like it's crying out, high and low in waves of emotion- like it's a person. The steady 1-2-3-4 of the drums is the heart and life, the half beats of the bass that lie between it are it's best friend, the steady rock one needs to accompany them through life. The guitar glitters like the eyes of one who's happy, or buffers like lids that block everything out, and the voice, the singing, is the most vulnerable aspect, the most direct way to get your point across.

Music is expression, for so many people, in the same way that writing is an expression for him. It's one of the things that makes this world so much brighter, so much more interesting.

Now the peeping birds that sing their own little tune, and the sun that touches Rick's skin and seeps into his eyes, and all the lush colors of the flowers and the trees and the grass and the bushes make Rick smile instead of frown.

When the band is finishing up their last song, Rick hears the harsh squeak of the door to the record shop opening, the sound of a bell accompanying it. When he turns to meet the noise, he does a double-take, because _Good Lord_ _,_ there's Negan with a huge grin on his face, walking over to the crowd and applauding the musicians wildly as they say their goodbyes and their thank yous to everyone who stopped and watched.

 _Of course_ this is the record shop Negan works at. Of all the record shops in Austin, and there is a _whole fucking lot ,_  of course this is the one Negan works at.

He's praying to the universe that he'll go unnoticed, that Negan will do whatever he was going to do and _not_ see Rick, but the universe has other plans.

Rick watches as Negan shakes the hands of all the men in the band, he even pulls each one of them into a hug despite their sweat soaked forms.

The people in the crowd have gone on their way, and Rick _knows_ he should do the same before Negan spots him, before he's late to class, but there he is, feet planted to the ground as the crowd rapidly shrinks in size.

It's only a matter of time before Negan spots Rick, and when he does, he looks at Rick like he might be in a dream, just for a second, and then he's making his way over.

“Ricky, my boy!” he exclaims, that godawful grin spread across his face, “What brings ya’ way over yonder? Class get cancelled or somethin’?”

Rick shakes his head, and murmurs, “Just got… distracted.”

“Distracted, huh?” He smirks, “Or did ya’ just wanna see me that fucking bad?”

When Rick doesn't react, much less respond, Negan clears his throat, changing the subject, “Yeah, Terry and the Boys will really do a number on you. Best fucking soul group in Austin, in my opinion. Fucking mesmerizing.”

Rick swallows stiffly, then says, truthfully, “Yeah, they were amazing.”

Negan lights up, “They’re gonna play at Tony’s down on 5th this weekend… maybe we could go.”

Rick’s stomach flips, and he looks up at Negan with hesitant eyes. He doesn't know if he wants Negan to mean it as a date or not.

“Together,” Negan confirms, like he can see the questions in Rick’s eyes, “Just me and you. How's that sound?”

Rick feels his confusion play hold on his face, and he can’t help but stand there, still and silent and staring at Negan like he holds the remedy to Rick’s befuddlement, but the older man’s face lay placid and _too_ fucking gorgeous.

There's an incredibly tender look in his eyes, and his lips are still stretched crookedly in a smirk, but with something warm around the edges. It sends shivers down Rick's spine, but it seems- it feels- all too good to be true.

“I-I don't know,” Rick stammers, holding on especially tight to the straps of his backpack, “I’ve- uh.. I’ve got a lot of things to do like um… _study_! I have to study like everyday.. and stuff.”

Negan gives him a funny look, watches him carefully, before he says, amused, “I’m pretty fuckin’ sure you can afford to skip a day, ya damn square.”

It’s true, technically he can, but is he going to admit that right now? No.

“I’ve really- I really have to get to class,” Rick says lamely, and then he’s jogging across the street again, and back onto his original trail, leaving Negan high and dry in the parking lot of the record store.

He doesn’t spare him a glance back.

 

Rick gets to class seven minutes late, and his professor chews him out for it, but he finds it doesn’t bother him as much as it should, as much as it used to.

-

What the fuck was he thinking? Seriously, what the  _fuck_ was he thinking, asking Rick out to a show on the weekend? God dammit, when did he get so fucking ridiculous? He sees the guy for ten seconds and his brain leaps out the damn window.

Negan sits down in the rolling chair behind the checkout counter, kicking his feet up as a means to relieve himself of all the stress inducing embarrassment he just cake-walked himself right into not ten minutes ago.

He’s supposed to be sorting through all the used records the store just bought, weeding out the shitty ones and putting the gems on careful display before the store opens in an hour, but honestly, he’s immobilized in shame and he doesn’t know when his bones will lose that rigid, stiffening feeling, so the records can fucking wait.

Right now, all he wants to think about is nothing, _absolutely nothing_ , but he knows that’s not how brains work. Minds don’t just shut off… Well, maybe they do but you need to be on some high ass level of enlightenment for that, and as of now and always, Negan is so far in the dark that the sun shines blue.

 Rick hates him. He knows it. He can feel it, and Lord Almighty is he familiar with the feeling of hatred directed towards him. Normally he wouldn’t give a shit if people hated him, but this time its Rick. He had something with Rick, something sweet.

But one minute they were talking for so long that spit goes flying, laughing so hard that tears start falling, and then the next thing he knows Rick can’t even speak one word to him without looking like Negan just kicked the boy straight in the gut with a steel-toed boot. And he knows it’s all his fault.

 

Suddenly he’s ripped from his thoughts as a rough vibration emanates from Negan’s back pocket, the crying out of his ringtone muffled by his ass.

“Christ on a fucking stick,” he mutters, hastily grabbing his phone. He doesn’t spare the screen a glance, just taps on the green answer button with enough force to kill a man.

“Fucking _what?_ ” He greets, holding the phone to his ear like it’s a gun to his head.

“Come pick me up,” commands a voice, drained and distressed.

“Goddammit, Beth, I’m already at the fucking shop!” He nearly yells, “You were supposed to be here an hour ago! Do you even care about this damn jo-”

“Listen, just shut the hell up and come get me. I’m at iHop,” she sighs, then reluctantly adds, “the one near Daryl’s house.”

“For fucks sake, why don’t you just fucking ask Daryl for a god damn ride! Call a fucking Uber! It’s _twenty- motherfucking- seventeen!_ Take a bus, if you wanna be retro or some shit.”

She sighs again, this time with gallons more anger.

 _“COME GET ME, YOU FUCKWIT!"_ Beth yells at the top of her lungs, then she's hanging.

Negan groans, pocketing his phone before he gets up from his seat. He locks up the store, makes sure the ‘Sorry, we’re closed!’ side of the sign is still up and visible to the public eye, and then he’s in his van.

 

He gets to the iHop and finds a parking. Loitering there near the entrance is Beth, sitting on the concrete floor with her head leaning against the hard wall behind her back. She looks too sorrowful for someone her size; her eyes are puffy and red, she’s dressed roughly in mismatching clothes, like she had been in a rush, and there’s bag of her stuff sat next to her. A lit cigarette dangles from her lips, the ash making up more than half the length.

He doesn’t ask what happened to her, or why she called him. He figures she’ll tell him on her own time, when she’s ready. Instead, when she looks up at him with her too young, fiery eyes, he just says, “Wanna eat?”

He nods his head towards the entering door. He sees the way her eyes grow watery before she shakes her head yes, and the ash of the cigarette goes tumbling down onto the concrete.

 

When they’ve finished eating, and have been driving around in Negan’s van for who knows how long, Beth finally speaks.

They’re stuck in traffic and she says, “There’s too many fucking people in this world, man. Especially in Austin, man. Overpopulated as shit... What are we all doing here, anyways? What is it that we all want that brought us to this one damn city?”

She cracks open her window and lights another cigarette. She takes a long drag before saying, “We should all just leave,” she throws a hand at the lines of cars in front of her and beside her, “But we can’t because of all of this fucking traffic.”

He gives an amused chuckle, not sure if he’s supposed to be laughing. He turns on the radio, but a shitty song is playing. It’s nearly finished when Beth speaks again.

“I hate my Dad,” she mumbles, and Negan strains to hear her, “I hate Maggie.”

She swallows hard, trying to speak louder, “I miss my Mom.” Her voice grows incredibly weak as she says, with sadness pulling down tight on her face, “I love Daryl.”

Then she’s weeping and it’s the most heartbreaking thing Negan has witnessed in a long time. He doesn’t know what to do. For a second, he’s sitting there with his mouth slightly agape, looking around for answers as to what can comfort the girl in her woes.

But then he’s slumping in his seat, looking forward at the idle traffic. There _are_ too many people.

He wonders how many of the people sitting in their cars right now are as fucked up as he is. He wonders where they’re going, and what they’re worrying about the most. He wonders how many of them will die on these streets, living their last moments inside a hunk of fallible metal until they no longer have to worry any longer.

“I hate my Dad, too,” he says, once Beth’s crying has dissolved into erratic sniffles.

She looks at him quietly, waiting to see where he’ll go with this.

“I miss my Mom, too, but I don’t think she misses me,” he says with more vulnerability than he’d care for.

Negan sighs, “Rick hates me.”

Though he hates to admit it, saying those words, those words that haunt him so flagrantly, allow a heavy weight to be lifted from his chest.

“We’re pretty fucked up, huh?” Beth laughs, wiping her nose.

He laughs too,  "Don’t worry about it, kid. You’re still young, you got time to fix your fucked-ness.”

Beth smiles, then says, “You’re still young, too.”

 

The traffic starts inching forward, a modest start, but a start nonetheless. The Band plays on the radio, the music putting joy back into Beth and Negan as it sings,

_Take a load off Fanny, take a load for free._

_Take a load off Fanny, and you put the load right on me._

-

“I need to talk to you,” Rick says to Maggie once class has ended.

She gives him a concerned look.

“Um, I need to talk to you.. _Privately_ _._ ”

Her concern grows deeper, etching into her skin, but still she says, “Okay, that’s fine.”

 

They’re walking together, back to Rick and Negan’s apartment, and Rick hasn’t said a word for a few blocks. His arms are wrapped stiffly around his books, holding them too close for comfort, and his walking pace is just too brisk to be casual.

“You wanna tell me what exactly this is all about?” Maggie questions, slightly winded from trying to keep up with Rick.

“Negan asked me out,” Rick blurts, “On a date. Just us two. Together.” He stops in his tracks after he’s said it, as if hearing the words aloud again has paralyzed him.

 _"What?!”_ She looks horrified, and completely confused, “But- but _why?"_

He sighs, scrubs a hand over the stubble on his cheeks and chin that’s started to grow in. He hasn’t had the energy to shave lately.

He’s going to have to tell someone, after all this time of keeping these thoughts and events and feelings boxed in his head, Rick’s going to have to _tell_ someone. He’s going to have to have to say everything out loud, into the air, where it can never be taken back.

He figures of all people, he’s glad that it’s Maggie he’s telling. She’ll understand- or at least he hopes she will.

“Something’s been- There’s been… something… going on,” he struggles to say, “between… us.”

She stares at him, jaw dropped.

“Us as in Negan and I,” he clarifies.

“I know what you mean,” she says. She runs a hand through her short hair, “Oh my God.” She starts pacing the sidewalk, “Oh my Sweet Lord.”

“He kissed me,” Rick confesses, because why not while he’s here, “that night at The Pig, before they went on stage.”

She listens intently.

“It was… weird,” he says, willing himself not to blush, “Weird but-but _good._ It was nice. But then all that shit happened with the audience  and the fights and you and Beth, and then he just started being a fucking asshole- worse than before-  so we just never talked about it.”

Maggie rolls his words over in her head. After a moment, all she says is, “So you like him?”

Rick nods and it feels good.

“As in _like him_ like him?”

A bystander walks past them, shooting them a curious look, and suddenly he realizes they’re having this conversation in the middle of the sidewalk.

“Yes,” he says quietly, “but maybe this isn’t the best place to be having this conversation.”

“You’d rather have it in your apartment where Negan could be snooping around?”

“He’s at work, he won’t be home until nighttime,” he says, slowly starting to trek on home.

She sighs, but follows suit.

“Never thought I’d have to see this place again,” she murmurs, “Never thought I’d have to see _him_ again.”

-

When they’re out of traffic, Negan gets another call. This time he looks at the caller ID on the screen before he answers. It’s his boss, Simon.

“Don’t answer it! You’re driving!” Beth says as his finger hovers over the green button of the screen.

“It’s fucking Simon,” he says, eyes flickering from the road to his phone, “I’ll put it on speaker.”

He answers it, puts it on speaker, before he says, as blase as possible, “Yeah?”

“Where _the fuck_ are you, Negan?” He greets, his voice slightly distorted by the receiver.

Beth laughs a little too loud.

“Is that Beth?” Simon questions, “Why the fuck isn’t she here either? Do you both want to lose your damn jobs?”

“Cool your fucking jets, man,” Negan laughs, “There was a… family emergency.”

“Oh, was there?” Simon says, disbelieving.

“Yes, okay? What more do you want from a guy like me?”

He sighs hard, “The two of you better get your sorry asses back to the shop in a minute sharp if you know what’s good for ya’.”

“No can do, Simon. We’re callin’ in sick.” He can already see Simon turning red with anger, his moustached lip curling up with annoyance and his jaw set hard. He can’t help but smirk at the image.

There’s a tense silence, and then Simon’s speaking, “You two are so fucking fired.” His voice carries no heat in it’s delivery, just defeat.

“Love you, too, baby boy,” He says, punctuated with a loud smooching noise, and then Beth’s hitting the red button on the screen, a grin on her face that makes her puffy eyes sparkle.

“Family emergency, eh?” She teases, “We’re family now, bro?”

Negan rolls his eyes, though he’s smiling as well, “I was just trying to save our asses, alright. Don’t get your fucking fanny in a twist.”

“I won’t,” she says amusedly, her grin turning into a smirk, “ _bro._ ”

 

Instead of returning to the shop, they go back to Negan’s apartment.

When they get there, Negan rushes to his room, Beth curiously following suit.

He rummages through his records, grunting and cursing until he finds what he’s look for: his ‘Ooo Baby, Baby’ 45. Hastily, he puts it on, only relaxing once the needle hits the vinyl, however, only slightly.

He collapses on his bed, letting out a loud sigh before he turns his head to Beth, who’s standing a few feet away, her bag slung across her shoulder, and a questioning look on her face.

“I’ve had this fucking song stuck in my head for the past two goddamn days,” he explains, voice exasperated, “Been driving me fucking nuts.”

“Quite the song,” she throws her bag off to the side as Smokey’s smooth la la la’s fill the room, “Any reason in particular it might be stuck in your head?” She tried for smooth, but fell far from it.

“Real slick,” he quips, but then says much more seriously, “I think maybe my conscience is trying to console me or some shit.”

“For what?”

“I don’t fucking know,” he shrugs, “Maybe it knows that I really screwed up this time.”

“I’ve screwed up so many fucking times, but maybe this time the world is just like ‘what a fucking buffoon’ and so it’s sending me all these sad as fuck songs as a message to tell me to take a fucking hint.”

“Oh, shut up,” Beth rolls her eyes, sits next to him on his bed, “Rick doesn’t fucking hate you, you sound ridiculous.”

Negan frowns, “You think it’s that easy for me to realize? What about you and Daryl? Shouldn’t you know how shitty this fucking feels?”

She sighs, “Yeah, but… even if they do hate us right now, they can’t hate us forever.”

“Feels like forever.”

“Yeah, it does.”

-

“So how long has this been going on?” Maggie asks as they walk the final few blocks back to the apartment.

Rick shrugs, “ I don’t know. I guess something’s always been going on, but it’s just started getting real.” He tells her about everything; the shorts and Glenn's journal and the writing and Lucille and the music and how everything had started going downhill. It feels weird saying it out loud, even weirder when he realizes this gigantic part of his life could be so easily summed up into words. Words that just don’t fit his feelings grandly enough, words that made his situation seem so child-like and small. He supposes that feelings will never be of equal grandiose or eloquence as words, and words will never have as much importance as the feeling behind them.

Still Maggie looks at him with no judgement and complete understanding, though she still seems perplexed as to what Rick could ever see in Negan, and Rick understands, because he still feels the same way some days.

They’re standing on the porch of the apartment, Rick searching his pockets for his keys while Maggie waits patiently to the side, and lightly he recalls how not too long ago their roles had been reversed. Funny.

He unlocks the door and they step in. Immediately, they’re met with the strong, skunky scent of marijuana, and two loud laughs mingling with the sounds of a movie on TV. Sitting carelessly on the couch are Beth and Negan, each with a joint in their hand as Nacho Libre makes them struggle to breathe.

Rick’s head turns to look at Maggie, who’s face is burning red with rage.

The two hear the click of the door closing shut, they turn to see who it might be, and when they see who Rick has brought along, their glossy red eyes widen to a new degree.

“Of fucking course,” Beth sighs, slumping deep into the couch, the red vinyl squeaking in response.

“So this is where you run off to, huh?” Maggie says stiffly. She shoots Rick a look and says, “Nice to know.”

“Hey,” Negan says carefully, “Rick didn’t know, alright? This is the first time Beth’s ever stayed here.”

Maggie ignores him, and instead continues with Beth, “You left Daddy worried sick for _months_ _._ And for what? So you can hop from house to house and smoke weed all damn day? Do you not care about that?!”

“Actually, no Maggie, I fucking don’t,” Beth answers, tone harsh.

Maggie nods sourly, figuring she should’ve known. “You left _me_ worried sick,” she says, tensely, “Do you even care about that?”

Beth is silent, as is the whole room, excluding Jack Black who continues to speak behind the screen of the TV. Rick figures maybe he would’ve found that funny had the room not been so rigid.

Maggie purses her lips, holding back tears, “I figured as much.” She glances at Rick with wet, apologetic eyes, and he gives a slight nod of his head before she’s walking out of the door, just as soon as she had come in.

Beth hands Negan her joint, which is short and stubbed, and goes to follow Maggie. She gives Rick a weak, little smile when she passes by him.

Then it’s just he and Negan and the room feels a whole lot smaller. Tentatively, he makes his way over to the couch, sitting at the far end, making Negan feel miles away.

The older man looks up at him, placid and unreadable. Rick’s eyes fall on the joints in Negan’s hands, burning out a stench at an achingly slow pace.

“You wanna try?” Negan asks, holding one out in offering.

Why not, he figures. “Sure.”

He takes the thing from Negan’s hand and finds he’s not really too sure of how to hold it while the burning paper inches closer and closer to his fingers.

“Just smoke it like you would a cigarette,” Negan says calmly after a while.

Rick gives him a look, “I’ve never smoked a cigarette.”

Negan wheezes, finding that all too funny. He gives Rick a dopey grin, then says, “Look, just watch me.” He holds the joint up to his mouth, “Just do this.” He puts the thing between his lips, gives a long, hard suck- brows furrowed and all- while the butt of it glows orange, eating up more of the joint’s length. Then he opens his mouth, a heavy puff of smoke passing through his rosy lips.

Rick swallows hard.

He takes another quick hit, this time for his sake. “Just do that,” He says again, as if it’s that simple.

“Yeah, whatever,” Rick deadpans. Cautiously, he puts the joint between his lips, feeling the already moistened paper in his mouth. He figures it should gross him out, sharing something like this, but he’s indifferent. He sucks in like Negan had and immediately starts coughing uncontrollably when the smoke meets his lungs.

Negan, who’s undeniably as high as a fucking kite, finds it incredibly funny, his deep laughter pinching off into high pitched giggles. He moves closer to Rick, puts a soothing hand on his back while he works through his coughing fit.

“This isn’t fun,” he chokes out between coughs.

Negan grins, hand still moving tenderly (Rick’s shirt is really soft) across his back while he says, “It will be in a little while.”

 

He wasn’t lying. After a few more hits and a whole lot more coughing, Rick feels good. He feels like shimmering white with a cool lavender core.

He and Negan finish watching Nacho Libre, laughing insanely hard when Nacho goes to find the eagle eggs to become the greatest fighter who ever lived, and really, at every part of the movie.

He passingly thinks that he would have felt this great without the weed, just as long as Negan was with him. Maybe the movie wouldn’t have been as funny, but who knows. His short spanned brain doesn’t let him dote on that for long.

“You don’t mind if Beth stays here for a while, right?” Negan asks, a while after the movie ends, “It would just be for a little while. She usually crashes with Daryl but they’re not looking too hot right now.”

Rick thinks about asking why she doesn’t just go live with her Dad, but he figures that’s none of his business. “Yeah, it’s fine,” He says, a little drawn out from the weed, “She can stay.”

He turns his head to look at Negan, who’s way closer than he had remembered. He sees the spectrum of colors that make up his brown eyes. He wants to marry every single shade.

“You’re cute when you’re high,” Negan says, a relaxed smirk on his face.

“You too,” Rick says, before he can even think about it. He feels his lips stretch into a grin, little giggles slipping out from it. He’s got no time to feel embarrassed.

Before anything can happen between the two of them, Beth returns through the door.

Her face is glum until she sees the two boys close together on the couch, practically in each other’s laps. She looks closer, then says, an amused grin on her face, “Oh my God, Rick, are you high?!”

Rick chuckles, “A little.”

The three of them laugh together for a second, and then Negan turns to Beth, “Everything alright, kid?”

The silence sobers Rick up a bit. Just a little bit.

Beth smiles, small but honest, “It will be.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Constructive criticism is more than welcome! Also, I apologize for any typos. :)


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> songs mentioned in this chapter include:  
> 'Bodies' by The Sex Pistols  
> 'Mercy, Mercy Me' by Marvin Gaye

At first, Rick doesn’t mind Beth staying. She makes the apartment smell nice with all of the girly products she uses, and she’s always singing, but it’s never too loud, and Rick likes that. She’s not messy, either, which is a plus, and she lets Rick read the books she had brought along in her bag. She makes breakfast for herself and Rick, nothing too special, just bacon and eggs- which Negan scowls at because he doesn’t prefer meat. It’s nice, for a few days. It feels like a tiny family, with all the chatting and joke popping and laughing.

But then Rick has to go to school and work, and that leaves him with only a few hours at home, and even fewer hours with Negan on days where their schedules don’t line up too kindly. Before Beth was here, it wasn’t too bad. They handled it as well as they could, and they got to spend some happy time together, but now, now they hardly ever get to be alone.

It hasn’t even been a week, but he’s nearly at the end of his rope. Beth and Negan work the same hours at the same job, and then they come back to the same apartment at the same time, and they sleep in the same room and it just seems all too much like Rick gets the short end of the stick. Maybe he’s overreacting, but he feels like he’s dying, or shrinking at the very least, and although he loves Beth, and he knows there’s nothing but friendship going on between the two, he can’t help but be filled with envy, because she gets to spend all the time in her day with Negan.

Rick has to go to school and listen to shitty, bitter, old people boss him around, whether that be at work or at class, and he has to study like mad for finals, which are sneaking up on him a lot faster than he’d ever wish. He’s got his nose in a book more than half of the day, whether it be an actual book, or a textbook, or his journal, and it’s like all he sees these day is words on lines, and lines on pages. It makes him dizzy sometimes- most of the time- so he’ll end up taking a nap to calm his nerves and the next thing he knows, it’s time to go to class again, or it’s time to go to work again.

He hadn’t noticed just how mundane his life was until the one thing- or person, really- that made it all not half bad was largely absent.

“Beth still staying at you and Negan’s place?” Maggie asks him one day as they sit in the grass between classes. The grass is green and lush carpet, no stickers poking at their skin. Tiny pink flowers grow together in erratic clumps around them, little, loving butterflies dipping down to peck them with modest kisses while the sun shines down through the crevices in the clouds.

“Yeah,” Rick answers, trying not to sound as upset about it as he is. He notices a ladybug crawling on the leg of his jeans, just where it’s starting to tear at the knee. He lays his hand near it, lets it crawl onto one of his long fingers.

“You seem a little down about that,” she observantly says. Obviously, his act was not as convincing as he had tried for it to be.

“She’s nice, y’kno, she’s not a nuisance or anything, but,” he sighs, trying his best not to whine, “she’s _always_ with Negan! I can hardly get a minute in.”

Maggie smirks, but says nothing else.

“What?” Rick says

Her smirk deepens.

 _“What?!”_ He says again, throwing the ladybug at her face.

“Nothing!” She laughs, swatting the critter off her cheek, “It’s just funny.”

He finds himself laughing too, “So my pain and suffering is funny to you? You’re dark.”

“Not that,” she smiles, “Love… Love is funny.”

Rick blushes, “Now who said anything about love?”

“It’s Spring, Rick,” she says matter-of-factly, “The butterflies are mating, the flowers are blooming. Love is you, love is me, love is all in the air!”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he mutters, but his chest flutters lightly and his lips curl into a small smile.

-

“What’s the matter, darlin’?” Negan asks Beth when she wakes up one day especially gloomy.

He’s in the kitchen right now, slaving over a hot stove as he whips up some banana pancakes for the two of them to eat before they head off to the shop. Rick had just left for class not an hour ago, and the only thing Negan had seen of him was the back of his head, the boy’s overgrown, curly brown locks tugging at his heartstrings.

Beth slumps into one of the chairs at the circle table. “Daryl hasn’t been answering my texts.”

Negan gives her his best sympathetic look as he sets a plate of food before her. She gives a small thank you before she digs in.

“And I started my fucking period,” She adds with her mouth full, just as Negan is taking his seat in front of her, plated pancakes in his hand.

He grimaces, “Well, thanks for fucking informing me! Real sweet of ya, Bethy. Y'kno, I could’ve gone the whole damn day without that image in my head. Now all I’m seeing is gory fucking vaginas in all shapes and sizes, like a fucking photo reel in my head.”

“Don’t be a dick,” she rolls her eyes, swallowing down a huge bite, “Speaking of dicks, you boning Rick yet?”

“You’re with me twenty-five hours a fucking day, if I were screwing Rick, you of all people would know.”

“Well why aren’t ya, then?”

“Because I gotta babysit your crybaby ass every waking hour of my day!” He says, as if it weren’t obvious enough, “All I see of Rick everyday is his ass walking out the damn door. _Great_ fucking ass. I think about that fucking ass all day, it keeps me going in my moments of weakness, until the second I get to see it again.”

“That’s just about the weirdest shit you’ve ever said to me,” Beth says, finishing up the last of her pancakes, “Please warn me before you ever say something like that again.”

“Yeah? Well, fuck you.”

 

Once Negan’s finished with his pancakes, they head out, Negan locking up the apartment before they hop into his van. It’s a short way to the shop, in fact, it’s well in walking distance, but Negan likes his van, so he prefers the drive. When they’re waiting at a stop sign, he finds himself  thinking maybe he should switch over to walking, since it’s better for the environment, and it’ll save him money on gas, and keep him somewhat fit. His brain is coming up with more pros when Beth’s voice interrupts.

“I’m getting out here,” she says, voice solemn as she clicks her seat belt off.

Negan gives her a wild look, because _what the fuck is she fucking doing?_ “You really can’t wait? It’s just a fucking stop sign, for Christ's sake!”

Her eyes are looking over his shoulder and out the window, nearly absent in their conversation. “That’s not it,” she answers tersely, to which Negan’s brows furrow harder in confusion.

He follows her line of sight in hopes for an answer, and after a second of searching, he finds it. On the side of the road, just a few blocks away is Daryl, worn and raggedy as usual, banging on a few buckets with makeshift drumsticks. When the radio quiets, awaiting the arrival of the next song, he hears the distant strikes and clashes that Daryl makes.

Negan sighs, “Please don’t fucking do anything stupid.” Beth pays him no mind, opening the door and hopping out into the streets. Negan watches as she makes her way to her lover, running past cars and pedestrians with their pets and children. She looks like a mad woman and for a vague moment he wonders what he would do if his own child were to turn out like Beth. Broken, misunderstood, young, and talented Beth.

After a while, he thinks maybe he shouldn’t have children; the uncertainty of their futures just seems like too much weight for a parent to bear. He couldn’t handle the responsibility of their outcome. Maybe Beth’s father isn’t as bad a man as Beth makes him out to be, he thinks. Maybe his own father isn’t as bad a man as _he_ makes him out to be.

A loud horn honks from behind him, tearing him from his thoughts. Negan honks back, as if he has a reason to.

When he gets to the shop, the first thing he does is search for a record to put on. He doesn’t know what he’s looking for, he’s not really looking for anything in particular, so he just roams about the aisles, flipping through the LPs and the 45s like he’s a damn customer here. He passes by the blues section, the rock n’ roll section, R&B, Gospel, Soul, Folk, Jazz, Metal, Ska, Grunge, Acid Rock, Reggae- but nothing jumps out at him.

Then he walks past the punk section and his co-worker, Arat, is there, putting some new vinyl into the docks in alphabetical order. When she sees him, she automatically knows what he’s doing, she’s seen him do it a thousand times. “I swear to God I’m the only one around here who actually does their fucking job,” she jabs, though there’s no honest heat to her words, “Where’s that little teeny bopper girl? She quit?”

Negan doesn’t respond, he can’t even speak for a second when he sees the records that’s in her hands, the flamboyant yellows and pinks slapping him straight across the face like a lovely lady’s hand. “Hey, can I see that?” He asks, completely distraught.

Arat raises an eyebrow with such intimidation, “This? This is a fucking collector’s edition. It’s not up for trial spins, babe.”

He scoffs, “Then I’ll buy the fucking sucker! Gimme the damn record!”

“It’s $85 dollars,” she states, as if that could change his mind.

“I don’t give a fuck, shit, or _hot diggity damn._ I’ll buy the motherfucker twice, just give me the damn record.”

“Fine,” she mutters, finally handing it to him. He gives her a charming smile in lieu of a thank you, and she gives him the finger.

However, as he walks back to the front counter with _Nevermind The Bollocks_ by The Sex Pistols shining like gold in his hands, he could not care any less about anything but getting this record under the needle as soon as possible.

He puts it on _Bodies_ immediately, and it’s like he time travels eight years back, into Lucille’s bedroom back in her parent’s house; her parents who hated his fucking guts. He sees her with her mile long legs in that tiny fucking plaid mini skirt, her body luscious and full and bouncing while she danced around to the music, mouthing the lyrics with her glossy, red lips like it was all a jolly, sixties pop tune, and not a song about the dark side of illegal abortions.

_She was a girl from Birmingham, she just had an abortion._

_She was a case of insanity._

_Her name was Pauline she lived in a tree._

_She was a no-one who killed her baby, she sent her letters from the country._

_She was an animal, she was a bloody disgrace._

He remembers the both of them thinking they were the cat’s fucking pajamas because they listened to The Sex Pistols and The Ramones and The Germs, and not whatever was on the radio at the time. He remembers Lucille crying like a baby when she had tried to bleach her raven-like hair blonde like Nancy Spungen, and it came out a patchy, gingery mess. He remembers having to steal his Dad’s car to go to the drugstore and buy her a box of black hair dye because she was too embarrassed to be seen in public. Overzealous, shameless, unapologetic Lucille, sobbing and embarrassed over something as lame as hair. It was the first time he had ever seen her so vulnerable, and the last time as well.

He remembers all of this because of one song. He remembers a whole lot more with the rest of the album.

Thank God, or whoever’s out there, that business is slow today, because his mind is nearly a decade behind.

When the Pistol’s album is finished, and Negan has come back from whatever daze he was in, he decides to continue his listening party. Why stop at one? Especially on a boring fucking day like today.

He makes his way back into the aisles, making it a point to avoid Arat completely, meaning he’s cut off from the punk section, which is just his fucking luck. So he heads towards the new arrivals bin, figuring there has got to be _some_ punk in there. He flips through the LPs, and there’s some good shit. There’s some remastered pressings of Led Zeppelin, some Queen, David Bowie, Prince. There’s also some sub par shit like John Denver and Paul Anka when he was past his prime, which he’s not interested in. After a while of digging, he lands on a Ramones album, not his favorite one, but he thinks it will have to do. He’s just about to yank it out of its spot when he sees something lying against it.

It’s a 45, and he nearly leaves it there, even though 45s don’t go in that bin, (some lazy fuck must’ve dropped it in there when they decided they weren’t interested in it after all) but his curiosity tells him to grab it, so he does. When he reads the title of the A- side song, he groans, looking up at the sky in exhaustion.

_Mercy, Mercy Me (The Ecology Song) by Marvin Gaye._

Whoever’s up there has _gotta_ be fucking with him.

He leaves the Ramones album behind, and takes the 45.

When he puts it on, the tender sweetness of Marvin’s voice alone nearly makes him cry. He knows this song is about the worsening conditions of the environment, but if he disregards that just for a few minutes, the song is about him, and his own sorrows as he lives on this dirty planet from day to day.

Whoa, ah, mercy mercy me.  
Oh things ain't what they used to be, no no.  
Where did all the blue skies go?  
Poison is the wind that blows from the north and south and east.  
Whoa, oh mercy, mercy me.

 _Oh things ain't what they used to be, no no.  
_ _What about this overcrowded land, how much more abuse from man can she stand?_

Negan feels something in his chest pull when he thinks about how Rick said this was his favorite song. He doesn’t know if that’s still the case now, what with all the new music he’s seen and heard in the last few months, but something silly in Negan hopes it still is, just so that there’s something about Rick that he’ll always know.

He listens to the song many times more, despite Arat’s consistent bitching to play something else. After what Negan thinks is it’s sixth time on repeat, someone walks into the shop.

Though he’d been expecting Beth, he’s pleasantly surprised when he sees his dearest old roomie walk through the door.

“Oh, hey, Marvin!” Glenn says, overly excited, to no one in particular when he recognizes the voice filling the shop.

“Glenny, my boy,” He smirks, making sure his voice is the loudest thing in the room, “Long time no see.”

“Hi, Negan,” Glenn mutters, like he understood the possibilities of what he was going to face before he stepped foot in here.

His slight misery fills Negan with an unorthodox type of joy, and he’s sure it’s written all across his face, “Well, how can I help you, little man?”

Glenn perks up, “Actually, do you know where I can find some Joni Mitchell records?”

Negan’s brow raises, amused, as he makes his way over to Glenn across the counter, “You didn’t strike me as a man who could appreciate some Joni. New or Used?”

“Yeah, well neither did you to me. Used.”

Negan leads the way and Glenn follows. After a few minutes, Glenn ends up with _Blue_ and _Ladies of The Canyon_ by Joni Mitchell in his hands, and after some further convincing on Negan's behalf, a couple of Joan Baez records as well.

He’s just finished ringing the fella up, handing him his change and his receipt and his records, when Glenn says, “I know about you and Rick.” It throws him completely off guard, and there Glenn is just eyeing him down, looking like he’s summoned all the world’s courage.

“I’m just gonna tell you here,” he continues sternly, conviction strong as he says, “Rick’s my friends and if you do him wrong, if you _hurt_ him, I- I’ll… kick your ass… _hard._ ” Glenn’s looking at Negan like he might go off at any second, Negan’s looking at Glenn with mass amounts of amusement.

He swallows down all the smart-ass remarks that are swimming around in his head like ducks in a pond, and instead says, “Duly fucking noted, Glenny.”

“Alright,” Glenn nods, face softening gradually until he’s wearing a small yet warm smile, “Thanks, man.”

“Come again!” He teases, voice mock-high as he lets a shit eating grin take hold of his face.

Beth returns to the shop shortly after Glenn leaves. Daryl still hasn’t taken her back, but she doesn’t cry about it anymore.

-

When Beth and Negan return to the apartment after their shift, they find a snoozing Rick lying peacefully on the red, vinyl love seat in the living room.

“Go talk to him!” Beth whispers, shoving Negan lightly with her shoulder.

“He’s fucking sleeping!” He whispers back, “You want me to fucking talk to him in his damn sleep like some fucking perv?”

Beth rolls her eyes, and says, a little louder than intended, “Well, fucking wake him up!”

Negan opens his mouth to say something about how cruel that would be, but then Rick’s shuffling awake, the couch squeaking under his movements. “Negan?” He calls out, voice hoarse and thick with sleep.

“Way to fucking go,” Negan says to Beth, so quietly it’s almost as if he had only mouthed the words to her. Beth stifles a laugh, sneaking silently and stealthily into Negan’s room, she closes the door achingly slow, careful not to make any noise. She give Negan a thumbs up, and then she’s out of sight.

He clears his throat, “Uh, yeah, it’s me.” Rick sits up, hair mussed and face puffy, turning his head to look over at Negan, who’s standing in the middle of the room like a dumbass. His gaze falls on the bag in Negan’s hands, and it lingers there for a moment, until his eyes are back on the older man’s face. “Where’s Beth?” He asks finally.

“She’s in my room,” he says, nodding towards the location, “We just got back from work.”

Rick lets out a “Hmph”, cocking his head indignantly. Negan smirks at the sight before him: a jealous, sleepy Rick. He’s just about to say something when Rick speaks up, voice still painfully groggy, “What’s in the bag?”

“You’re just full of questions, aren’t ya?” He teases. Rick doesn’t react, and Negan can’t tell if it’s because he’s too tired to, or if he’s just plain unamused. “I bought some vinyl,” he tells him, ultimately.

Rick perks up a little, his face gaining a  small drop of life, “What kind?”

Negan says nothing, just goes to sit next to him, and hands him the bag. He watches as Rick takes the Sex Pistols album into his hands, eyes studying the cover through and through, though there’s not much to see other than bright shades of pink and yellow.

When his eyes skim over the price tag, they widen considerably. _“Eighty-five dollars?!”_

Negan chuckles lightly, “Hey, it ain’t the biggest buck I’ve spent at that damn shop.” Rick gives him the look of a broke college student, “I don’t think I’ve ever spent eighty-five bucks on one thing… I’ve spent thousands on textbooks, but that’s about it.”

Negan smiles, Rick smiles back.

“Me and Lucille used to listen to that one a lot,” he says, tentatively, after a while, “Reminds me of her.”

Rick nods, slow and tender, as if to tell Negan that somehow he gets it.

Then he’s pulling out the 45, looking at it like the small size of it puzzles him. Negan watches as he reads the A-side, eyes squinting at the small font. He didn’t realize he was holding his breath, until Rick looks up at him, blue eyes full of excitement as he says, “This is my- This is my favorite song.”

Negan smiles, breathes again, and says, “I know.”

They stay like that for a while, gazing at each other with sparkly eyes as if time has been erased and forgotten, but then Rick’s eyes falter, and he’s clearing his throat, putting the vinyl back into the bag while Negan watches him carefully.

“Terry’s show is in a couple days,” Negan says after a while, his words slicing quickly through the silence like a hot knife through butter, “You still have to study?”

Rick looks at him with eyes that are tired from much more than a lack of sleep, and says, sharply, “Yeah, I think I do… Maybe you can ask Beth to go with you, I’m sure she’d love to.”

Negan scoffs, his brows rising with amusement, “What are you _jealous_ _?_ Jealous that I have a friend who’s a girl?”

Rick’s jaw sets hard, arms crossing over his chest as he murmurs, “I’m not jealous.”

He smirks, because Rick is so damn jealous, and boy if he doesn’t just _love_ that.

“Oh, Ricky, you are _so fucking jealous._ Look at you, all green with envy. It tickles my fucking heart. Oh, you are too damn cute.”

“I’m not fucking jealous!” He says, turning forward and away from Negan’s taunting gaze, but the red flush on his cheeks tells Negan otherwise.

“You so fucking are.”

“No, Negan, I’m _not._ ”

“Look me in the eyes right now, and tell me you’re not fucking jealous,” he dares, smirk apparent in his voice.

Rick turns to face him, and at first his face is as hard and untelling as a damn boulder, but when his eyes lock with Negan’s, a sort of playfulness glitters through them, and his lips start to twitch, a smile threatening to spread across his face.

“I’m not- I’m not… jealous,” he says, small fits of giggles cracking through his speech as a wide grin wins hold of his face.

His laughter and his smiles are infectious, and Negan finds himself mirroring the boy in front of him.

“You’re fucking jealous,” he states, though he’s smiling too hard and giggling too much for it to retain any seriousness.

“Shut up,” Rick says, hiccuping with laughter. Negan thinks he’s never heard or seen anything as beautiful as Rick laughing. Rick’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen from the Pacific Northwest of Washington to the Southern Hill Country of Texas. Rick’s the most beautiful thing he’ll _ever_ see in his life, he knows that, has known it for a while.

He doesn’t notice how close they are to each other until he leans in to kiss Rick, and it ends up being them knocking teeth more than it is actual lips on lips, but their huge grins might be at fault for that as well.

Still, Rick gasps, pulling away from Negan enough to where he can look him in the eyes. There are so many things shared in that one glance, so many fatal, pulling things, and for a second, Negan fears he’s gone and created another catastrophe, yet again. But then Rick’s lips are back on his, properly this time, and a fire burns low and long and amber in the pit of Negan's stomach as their mouths move together, slow and aching.

Rick’s wet and plush, with a delicious scrape of scruffy stubble, and Negan can’t get enough of him, can’t drink him up as fast as he spills out. His hands move from the strong firmness of Rick’s hips, to the dip of his waist, until they finally decide to rest easy in the hair at the nape of his neck, his fingers intertwining softly with his lush curls while Rick slings his arms around the older man’s shoulders.

He deepens the kiss, Rick letting out a muffled groan as Negan slips his tongue inside his mouth, the sinful sound going straight to Negan’s cock. Then he gets Rick lying on his back, head against the armrest while Negan straddles him, pulling away from Rick’s mouth only so he can leave a trail of wet kisses across his neck and shoulders and jaw.

“Is this a dream?” Rick says quietly, the smooching sounds of Negan’s kisses filling his ears. He’s breathless- chest rising and falling fast- and his voice is still groggy, his eyes fluttering half shut, whether it be from pleasure, sleepiness, or a combination of both, Negan isn’t sure.

“Nope,” he says, confirming it with a suck on Rick’s neck, “This is real life, baby.”

Rick hums happily, tangling his fingers into Negan’s hair. “Good,” he says, pulling Negan in for another kiss.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! All your kind comments truly make my day, and as always, constructive criticism is more than welcome! :)


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs mentioned include:  
> 'I Fall In Love Too Easily' by Chet Baker  
> 'It's All Over Now, Baby Blue' by Bob Dylan  
> 'Lay Lady Lay' by Bob Dylan

As the night ages on, Rick and Negan’s kisses become more and more languid, their lips hanging onto one another for dear life. Rick ends up laying on top of Negan, his body a heavy mass of warmth that clings to Negan in all the best ways, while their legs lay lazily intertwined. They’re both exhausted, but neither of them seem to be tired enough to call it a night.

Negan’s got his hands up Rick’s shirt, hand ravishing the hard plane of his back and all the soft, smooth skin that he never thought he’d get to touch, while Rick sucks lightly at his neck and jaw, teeth occasionally scraping lightly against the tender skin.

Things are quiet, save for the sounds of their coupling, but when Negan testingly moves his hands to rest in the back pockets of Rick’s jeans, the boy’s lips stop on his neck, leaving the room completely silent.

“Too much?” He asks, removing his hands slowly.

Rick shakes his head quickly, and says, “ _Nonono_ , I was just… thinking.”

Negan replaces his hands, looking up at Rick who’s lips are red and swollen, a strong contrast to his cool colored eyes. His cheeks and neck are ridiculously flushed, the warm, lovely color beginning to leak down into his chest, hidden away by the thin fabric of his worn t-shirt.

“Always thinking, you. Sometimes you just gotta let go, babe,” he whispers sleepily into Rick’s ear.

He’s so close to Rick he can hear it when they boy swallows, can feel the thoughts running a mile a minute in his sweet, messy mind. A moment later, Rick says, slightly on edge, “What is this? Y’kno, like, what are we now after this?” He pulls himself off of Negan just enough to look him in the eyes. Negan sees the worried wrinkle that furrows his brows, the way his eyes shift into a new shade of moody blue.

Negan bites his lip, trying not to venture too heavily into whatever his thoughts call him into. He’s not sure what this is, what he and Rick are, but he likes it. A lot. He doesn’t know if he could live without it. Now that he’s gotten a heavenly helping of the mysterious being that is Rick Grimes, he couldn’t just settle for anything else, because anything else was surely something less. To Negan, Rick is unreachable, unable to be beat.

He reaches a hand up to cup the boy’s cheek, let’s his thumb graze lightly against the stubble low on his jaw. He feels Rick’s tense face unwind under the touch of his hand, feels the boy’s sigh of de-stress breeze against his own skin.

He gazes at him intently, and quietly says, “Whatever you want us to be, that’s what we are.”

He knows the words may leave a lot to be desired, but he tries his best to let his voice convey his sincerity, his complete and utter desire to be with Rick despite the irrational fears that sit dark in the closet of his gut.

Rick eyes him wearily as Negan’s thumb keeps stroking, back and forth, while he acquiesces in the older man’s words

“Okay,” Rick says quietly, nodding his head lightly as he tries to ward away his worries.

Negan nods back, gentle and slow before he guides Rick’s mouth back towards his, giving him a long, slow kiss. When they pull away, Negan sees the mirthy smile splayed on Rick’s face.

“I guess I can go to that show with you after all,” he smirks, face still awfully close to the other man’s as he speaks.

Negan finds himself speaking solely and directly to Rick’s mouth, eyes planted strong on his bruised lips, “I knew you couldn’t fucking resist me, doll. Nobody can. I’ve gotta say I’m impressed you lasted this fucking long, you were one tough egg to crack.”

Rick grins, digging his nails into Negan’s chest, “ _Don’t_ call me an egg.”

Negan smirks, raising a devilish eyebrow as his tongue darts out to lick his lips. Rick watches the movement like a hawk.

“What’re ya gonna do about it, stud?”

Rick’s eyes grow wicked with mischief and Negan relishes in the godly sight.

-

The next morning, Rick awakens to the sounds of Beth’s singing mingled with the popping and sizzling noises of whatever she’s cooking. Negan lays half underneath him, half beside him with the scant space that the couch provides, and Rick’s muddled brain is at first alarmed by the sight and feel of him being so close, but then little flashes of scenes from the night before start to come back to him, and a warm feeling swirls throughout his stomach.

He gazes at Negan’s sleeping form, studying everything from his peaceful, slumbering skin, to the tattoos that litter his arms and his bare chest- tattoos Rick had seldom seen until last night, when he had stripped the man of his gaudy leather jacket and his typical white t-shirt.

In the air of the early morning where they reside in the small living room of their apartment, it seems as though the sun travels through the glass of the windows just to touch Negan’s skin, and all the whimsical tapestry hanging from wall to wall filters the warm light so that it lays colored and patterned across the canvas of Negan’s face and body. Rick sees the dark, bruised spots that have bloomed across the man’s jaw, neck, and chest- proof that what happened between them was real- and he can’t help the smile that finds it’s way onto his face.

He extracts himself from Negan, careful not to wake him up, and presses a soft kiss to his temple.

Then he’s making his way towards the kitchen, where the tiny girl sings.

Upon hearing his footsteps, Beth turns, as if she had been waiting for either him or Negan to finally wake up. When her gaze lands on Rick, it doesn't meet his eyes first, and suddenly he's becoming gravely aware of his shirtlessness.

“Fun night?” Beth says, when her eyes finally comes back to meet his, an amused smirk unabashedly settled on her lips. Rick flushes, and dares to look down at his own torso. He sees the smattering of maroons and violets, starting at his chest and trailing all the way down to his abdomen. A chill runs up his spine at the fuzzy memory of Negan’s mouth on his skin. He hadn’t been touched so lovingly in so long.

“Eh, fun enough,” he smiles, feigning indifference. Beth gives him a sly grin, her blue eyes all-knowing. She serves him what she calls a “congratulatory breakfast” of pancakes and bacon, acting as if she’s a mother who just found out her daughter got prom-posed to. It’s a little silly, but Rick appreciates it nonetheless.

When he’s finished eating, he retreats to his room with the intention of getting ready for his day, but he sees his journal lying on his nightstand, speaking to him in waves with the tone of a lover who’s been neglected and forgotten.

He hasn’t written in a few days, and that alone fills him with a longing as well as a tiny dent of remorse. He tells himself it’ll only be a minute, that he’ll just jot down a few things, all the little thoughts and ideas that rest in the front of his mind, but then he finds himself lying belly down on his bed, pen nestled between his fingers, and journal under his hand as a fire lights his brain up unexpectedly, like it always does.

He never has a plan for what he writes. He just writes down the first thing that pops into his mind, and then he goes on from there, and whatever happens is just a happy, chaotic accident. Today, the first and only thing he can think about is Negan, so that’s what he writes about. He doesn’t worry about the risky possibility of the older man reading it later, or if he’ll know the words Rick is writing are about him. He just tries to find words that can capture everything that’s on his mind, tries to string them together to create an ambiance that’s just the right shade and tone of everything he’s feeling right now, everything he felt last night on that couch with Negan on top of him and underneath him. He tries not to make it corny, he tries to make it real and honest, because that’s how everything felt and that’s how everything should be.

When he’s finished, once he feels like he’s gotten everything out for now, he sees how he’s filled three pages, front and back, with what can only be described as word vomit, and he’s taken aback by the sight of his monstrous handwriting, which had started off neat and slow, and then gradually morphed into frantic chicken scratch as his brain began to work faster than his hands.

He doesn’t read over it, because he never reads over his work. He doesn’t want to judge himself, not over something he had only started doing to make himself feel good and alleviate him from his daily stressors.

In the back of his mind, he think if he ever gave this writing thing a shot, he’d fall face first into the dirt. He could never be a true poet, or an honest prose-man. His talent could never compare to the talents of all his favorite writers, and as of right now- due to college and, admittedly, a little fear- he’s okay with that. He’s fine with not improving, and with being mediocre.

So he lets his writing be as it is, and settles his journal back onto it’s reserved spot on his bedside table.

He’s getting ready to take a shower, rummaging through his drawers in search of clothes that are actually clean, when a knock sounds at his door, tearing him clean away from his thoughts.  
“Come in!” Rick calls, trying not to sound as panicked as he feels. A timid fear settles languidly in his gut when he sees Negan walk through the door, clad in his typical ensemble of leather, white cotton, and denim- hair coiffed in a way that’s intentionally disheveled. Rick’s sure his own half naked, love-bitten, unkempt appearance is the complete polar opposite of Negan’s and all its coolness.

“Hey, baby,” he smirks, skin glowing, and voice silky and light as he slinks closer to Rick, clearly undeterred by his appearance. Suddenly the man’s smitten gaze fills him with dread, a drastic turn from the higher feelings it had induced only hours ago.

A pestering voice in the back of his mind makes him question Negan’s intentions yet again, the man’s drunken rambles of casual fun that he had uttered weeks ago reminding Rick of the apprehensions that kept him from being where he is now with Negan.

He was out of it last night; too tired to shield himself properly from the addictive feelings of infatuation that dared permeate throughout him, or rather, too tired to bother with denying himself the glories of affection. He had let his fears subside, the walls crumbling down around him like cheap, dry earth, as Negan’s lips pumped his skin and mouth full of sweet, unspoken promises. Maybe it was all in his head, but at the time, it felt right, maybe even safe.

But now, the morning after, he finds himself questioning it all, like always.

Then Negan’s words reoccur to him: _Always thinking, you. Sometimes you just gotta let go, babe._

He finds his mind at war, but still he lets out a simple “Hi,” as he forces his mouth to prim into a small, tight smile.

Negan moves impossibly close, resting his hand on the small of Rick’s naked back. Rick tenses at the contact and at the sparks that ensue. When Negan leans in to plant a kiss on his lips, Rick turns his head sideways, so that he misses.

When he looks up, Negan’s looking at him carefully, a cocktail of amusement and what Rick thinks might be hurt, swimming in his eyes.

“I- I haven’t brushed my teeth yet,” Rick says lamely, trying to dispel the worry that furrows the man’s brow. His explanation isn’t exactly a lie either…

Negan scoffs, only slightly relieved, “I don’t give a shit if you have stank breath.” He leans in again, but Rick captures his chin between his fingers, putting a stop to Negan’s attempts.

He nearly regrets his decision when he comes to lock eyes with Negan, disappointment written all over the other man’s face.

“It’s gross,” he says.

Negan sighs, “Oh, fuck off.” There’s no heat behind his words, just the same disappointment that lay thick on his gorgeous face. Rick hates that he’s the one who put it there.

In an effort to compensate him, he plants a hesitant kiss on the man’s stubbly cheek, only inches away from his mouth.

When he pulls away, releasing Negan’s chin from his grasp, he’s met with questioning eyes and a small smile that wears blue at the edges. Rick finds it hard to hold his gaze.

“I just wanted to say bye before Beth and I left to the shop,” he states, explaining his visit. His voice borders on glum.

Rick nods, as if to tell Negan he had figured as much.

Negan’s hand slides from Rick’s back to his hip, clutching him desperately like maybe he could squeeze the words right out of him, and get him to say whatever's on his mind.  

Then his hand is gone, and so is he, walking out of Rick’s room and then out of the apartment.

Rick stands there like an idiot, even when he’s long gone, chewing anxiously at his bottom lip until he figures he should probably go take that shower.

-

“So,” Beth begins, talking to Negan from across the store, “You and Rick, huh?” They’re the only two in the front of the store, Beth sitting behind the counter spinning Billie Holiday while Negan occupies himself by cleaning the loose 45s that lay in the used bin.

“I don’t wanna talk about it, Beth,” he states, voice firm and tense as he handles the vinyl in his hands with a little too much aggression.

Beth scoffs, “What’s wrong now? He bite your dick too hard? Didn’t call you Daddy?”

He drops the vinyl back into the bin indignantly, glaring at her small form even though the distance between them probably takes away from its intensity. He loses his heat almost immediately, and picks up the 45 again, wiping it down for the hundredth time, finding it just won’t ever be fucking clean enough, whether it be because the thing is old as shit, or because it just wants to mock the fuck out of him.

“Shut up, Beth,” he says, weakly, his body sparing no fight. Beth’s quiet for a while, and then she says, much gentler this time, “Hey, what happened, man? I thought things were good, finally.”

“Yeah, well so did I,” he mutters just before the chime of the door sounds, letting them know a customer has entered the store, a saving grace to Negan, “But maybe we shouldn’t talk about it now.”

They both turn their heads casually towards the door, seeking the sight of their unknown visitor. Though Beth and Negan can’t see each other, the latter knows Beth is just as surprised as he is to see a frail looking old man, well into his eighties, trekking into the shop with his cane as his anchor. It’s safe to say he looks a far cry from the usual, greasy-looking, mid-twenty year old, hippie wannabes that pop in on the daily, and he is just a precious sight to behold.

“Excuse me, Sir? Do you need any help?” Beth asks, speaking loudly so he can hear her.

He turns at the sound of her voice, the look on his face making it evident that he had not seen her despite Beth being the first thing you see when you walk into the store.

“Oh, yes, dearie, yes!” He replies, voice old and creaky, yet so lively, “I’m in dire need of some jazz. Authentic jazz: Duke and Basie and Dizzy and Prez.”

Negan watches the exchange, nearly laughs as Beth, the girl he had met at a Jazz music bar, scrambles to get on the other side of the counter as her tiny being lights up with excitement. “Oh, _yes Sir_ , you came to the right place!” she says, walking at a snail’s pace to keep up with the elderly man, but she clearly doesn’t mind, “I’m a jazz singer.”

“Are you now?” the old man croaks, a wrinkly smile taking hold of his face.

“Well, I was, but they told me I was too loud for Jazz, so I went on to Blues, mostly,” she tells him, like she’s talking to a long lost friend, “I’m in a band with that guy over there in the leather, he’s my guitarist.”

Beth points him out, and when the man’s eyes land on him, he gives a polite wave. He’s not really too sure how to act around someone of this age, someone who’s attitudes and behaviors and personality are rooted deeply in the culture of past generations that Negan isn’t even old enough to have his parent’s understand.

“Now, what a fine looking young man!” He says, eyes lighting up with mirth, a kind chuckle interrupting his words, “Must catch a lot of skirt looking like that, son.”

Negan laughs, honest and loud, before saying, “Hey, now you ain’t too bad yourself, buddy.”

“You don’t have to tell me, son, I hear enough of that,” he quips, making Beth and Negan bellow with laughter.

With no question, Negan forgets about the bin of dirty 45s, and ventures on to the jazz section of the store with the two of them, since Beth hardly knows how to navigate her way around here.

As the three of them scavenge and scope out records that fit the liking of their customer, Charles- that’s the name of the old man- upon finding a piece of music that he adores, fills Beth and Negan in on the sentiments behind the music, how each song entwined with his life- making each memory that much more memorable, and how each tune made him never forget his sentient roots as a human being with faults and emotions.

When Beth raves to him about a certain Chet Baker album, an album Negan is not so well acquainted with, Charles shakes his head in absolute delight, wrinkly face furrowing in places that the lines printed deep in his skin have surely gotten used to.

“The love of my life showed me this album,” he tells the two, his aged voice carrying impossible amounts of reverence and nostalgia, “She loved Chet, _absolutely_ loved the man. Wanted in his pants, in his socks, in his mind, and what have you not.” He points a shaky finger to a song that lay written on the tracklist on the back of the record, and then he starts singing, surprisingly in tune for a man of his age, _“I fall in love too easily, I fall in love too fast. I fall in love too terribly hard for love to ever last.”_

Beth looks at Negan with eyes so amazed, and Negan is sure he’s giving her the same look, maybe even more ridiculously so. He’s grinning so hard, troubles far away.

“I ain’t never fallen in love as fast as I did with my girl, my sweet Bev. The second I laid eyes on her I was gone, I was already in heaven. That’s why I ain’t afraid of dying, I call for it like a baby calls for their Mother, ‘cause I already know what heaven looks like, and everything it holds. Every dip and every curve.”

Beth and Negan are moved to silence. Deep down, Negan thinks he can understand Charles' words.

“I see so many young people, eyes wounded in love and in hatred, and I recognize that pain in everyone, ‘cause I been through it myself my whole life. Ain’t no one free from it but children- sometimes not even then. But rarely do I ever see that pain turned to good. I think my dying wish would be to see all the world’s pain turned to good.”

“We hope your wish is granted, Mister,” Beth says after a short silence, a smile on her face while her blue eyes lay pensive. Negan is still silent, too incredibly moved to even form words.

When they get to the checkout counter, and Charles pulls out his wallet, Negan intervenes.

“Hey, don’t you worry about it, man. It’s on the house.”

Charles reluctantly moves to pocket his wallet, shaking his head, “Sonny, when you’re as old as me, you’re not afraid to spend a little money.”

Negan smiles, “You’ve already paid your debts in more ways than you can even imagine, old man. _I’m_ the one who owes you something.”

“Well,” Charles says as Negan hands him his bag full of records, “I’m glad this withering mind of mine could help someone.”

Beth and Negan watch patiently as he makes his way out of the store, gait slow and labored.

“Come again!” Beth calls, to which Charles responds with a jolly, wheezy laugh, “This ain’t the last of me, dearie.”

Once he’s truly gone, the air in the room moves from roused to still, only a few ordinary people left lingering in the shop. Negan turns to Beth, who’s already looking at him with a thin layer of introspection coating her young face.

“Shit like that kinda makes you look at the grand scheme of life, huh?” She says lightly, after a while.

Negan nods, head heavy, “Do you think we’ll live that long? Long enough to just be a big ole wrinkly vault of memories and lessons and… _fucking wisdom_ _._ ”

“Some people live that long and don’t even learn a thing,” Beth says, voice dazed.

“I know," Negan agrees, then wearily adds, “I’m afraid of being one of those geeks.”

Now it’s Beth’s turn to nod, “Me too.”

-

After showering and brushing his teeth and putting on fresh clothes, and doing just about everything else to make himself feel decently productive, Rick almost feels lost.

It’s his first day off from the library in a long time, his first day off on the weekend at that, and he isn’t used to having this much time to spend at his leisure. He’s either studying, or reading, or writing, or working, or sleeping- but he’s caught up with all of those things.

No upcoming exams to study for (unless you count finals, which maybe Rick _should_ be studying for those), no new books for him to read. He’s already done a fair amount of writing, more than he usually does, he’s off from work, and he’s not tired.

He’s lying in his bed, doing nothing but looking around at the scene that is his room; the four white walls that stand plain and structured, the mess of clothing that lay idle on the hardwood floors, and the utter lack of personality the room conveys as a whole. After a while, he finds it exhausting to look at, so he shuts his eyes, willing himself to sleep despite his fully rested state.

He tries focusing on his breathing as a means to soothe him into slumber, making his inhales and exhales flow even and steady, but his efforts work only in vain as his mind runs much too fast to be ignored.

But still he tries to ignore it, tries to find something to at least slow it down, just a little bit. He gets up from his bed and starts pacing around his room, but he finds that only makes matters worse, so he tries standing completely still, fully immobilizing himself as he lets his eyes fall shut.

He focuses on the darkness that the back of his eyelids provide, the small speckles of color that shine through. When he opens his eyes again, he catches sight of himself in the mirror, finds he can’t stop staring at the reflection that’s looking right back at him.

He sees his overgrown, damp hair, tucked haphazardly behind his hot, red ears. He sees the crease in his brow, and how when he relaxes it, a fine line remains. He sees his skin, so dull and gray, the modest beginnings of a beard dressing the lower half of his face. He runs a hand over the scratchy hairs, relishing in the odd feeling of it scraping against his hand.

He sees the thin skin under his eyes tinged violet, fading into a muggy greenish blue as it gets closer to the conjunction of the bridge of his nose and his brow. Then he’s looking into his own eyes, into all the odd specks and dashes and dots of detail and color, into the bottomless, black hole of his own pupils. It’s all seems so very hollow, every feature of his face. He would say he’s looked better, but he doesn’t know if that’s the case.

Before he can think any more about it, he tears his eyes away from his own gaze, quickly venturing out of his room just to be far, far away from his own reflection.

Ridiculously, he begins to walk around the apartment, counting the number of steps he takes as he trails from the living room to the kitchen, then in and out of the bathroom, in and out of the laundry room, down the hall, then outside the door of Negan’s room. It only takes him 67 steps. It's a very small apartment.

He stands outside of Negan’s door for longer than a sane person would, staring at the white, wooden door and studying every flaw etched in its age. He thinks maybe if he stares long enough it’ll open, and Negan will be behind the door, grinning his foolish grin and standing so crookedly tall. A part of Rick longs for it to happen, another part of him- a tiny, yet awfully potent part- fears the idea.

Rick puts his hand on the doorknob and twists, brow quirking in surprise when he notices it’s unlocked.

He walks into the room, the air feeling so stiff and silent, as though matching the anxiousness that is currently flowing through Rick’s veins and stewing his blood.

Negan’s room is a picture of it’s own, and now that Beth resides in this room as well, it’s a picture worth two characters. There’s so many clashing factors, like how Beth’s vibrant, wacky clothing stands out against the cool, monochromatic shades of Negan’s own, lying messily on the floor in a recipe of their laziness. But alongside the clashing lay all the ways their personalities mingle; from how Beth and Negan’s makeup lay on the same spot of the same counter, to how their records live among each other in differing harmony.

It seems as though every item holds so much in it, be it emotion or memory or personality, while everything in Rick’s room lay lifeless and dull.

He studies Negan’s room some more, eyes skitting from his bed to his guitars to his glasses on the nightstand, until his eyes land upon the record player that’s set up not a few steps away from where he stands.

Once he’s close enough, he’s able to see there’s a record still sitting on the turntable, idle and waiting. Moving closer, he reads the words printed at the center of the album: _Bob Dylan ‘Bringing It All Back Home’,_ followed by a numbered list of songs. He recalls Negan in his drunkenness yet again, on that same night where he’d so unabashedly laid next to Rick on his bed, choking on his own tongue while he asked Rick if he had ever heard of Bob Dylan, and immediately he knows this is Negan’s record and not Beth’s.

Rick picks up the needle and places it on the record, at a random spot on the disc, just like he’s seen Negan do many times before. He nearly jumps in fright when the music starts up in the middle of a song, the sound of a harmonica suddenly screeching out loud into the small space of the room.

Once the harsh cry of the harp dulls down, the soft sparkle of an acoustic guitar moves steady, nearly at the exact pace of Rick’s breathing. Then a voice breaks through, a brash, nasal voice that makes his brows furrow in surprise. Still, he listens intently to the words the voice sings- or really, it’s kind of like this Bob Dylan is just yelling out these words, not really singing.

_You must leave now, take what you need, you think will last_

_But whatever you wish to keep, you better grab it fast._

_Yonder stands your orphan with his gun_

_Crying like a fire in the sun._

_Look out the saints are comin' through_

_And it's all over now, baby blue._

He feels his brows shoot up in frank surprise. He’s impressed, and also a little complexed, not really sure what to make of the words, or how to decode them. He decides maybe he shouldn’t try to decode the song. They’re too many ways to interpret the lyrics, and if Negan has taught him anything about music, it’s that the words aren’t as important as what they make you feel.

And right now, as the song plays on, he’s feeling a little too much. Too much of what exactly, he doesn’t know, but there’s a heavy feeling in his chest that dances lightly with the hope that’s found its way into his heart. A feeling that weighs him down and lifts him up, like he sees the opportunity, but feels too weak to follow it.

The song ends much too quickly for his liking, so he restarts the whole thing, this time placing the needle at the very edge of the record instead of just anywhere, so that it starts from the beginning.

And when that’s over he flips it to the other side. And when _that’s_ over, he finds himself rummaging through Negan’s record collection, grabbing anything with Bob Dylan’s name on it. There’s _a lot_ _,_ and Rick listens to it all.

Well, he tries to. He’s laying on the floor that resides next to the record player, in the middle of listening to the _Nashville Skyline_ album when he slips into a peaceful sleep.

-

When Negan and Beth get back to the apartment, the first thing Negan goes to do is knock on Rick’s door. Terry’s show is in a few hours, and he just needs to know if Rick still wants to go with him (If Rick still wants to be with him). He knocks several times, at various degrees of volume, but still he gets no response. He spares a glance at the crack between the door and the floor, sees how the light is on in the boy’s room, and sighs in defeat, thinking Rick isn’t answering him for a reason and surely he’s gone and fucked things up again. But then he hears Beth calling out to him, standing in the doorway of his room.

 _“Negan!”_ she calls out, her voice a frantic whisper. He turns, sees her crazily waving him over with a ridiculous look of excitement in her eyes.

He surrenders to her call, slumping his way over to where she stands.

 _“You gotta see this,”_ she says, voice still hushed as gestures to the inside of Negan’s room.

When he sees Rick, lying on the floor of his room, sleeping like there’s no day and no night while _Lay Lady Lay_ plays softly into the air, he thinks his jaw drops a little bit and his heart shits its pants.

He’s had a dream like this, he thinks. Well, it was _so_ not as innocent and sweet as the sight before him now, and instead of Bob Dylan playing, it was Led Zeppelin, but _this_ , this is surely just as great, maybe even greater.

“I’ll let you handle him,” Beth says quietly before she departs, and for a second Negan had forgotten she was even there, which says a lot, because she’s quite the earful.

He cherishes the sight just a moment longer, cherishes the song. He thanks all the Gods that this song was made, that Rick was made, that _he_ was made. Going through all the bullshit that is life all seemed that much more worth it as Bob Dylan sings the words,

_‘Why wait any longer for the world to begin_

_You can have your cake and eat it too_

_Why wait any longer for the one you love_

_When he's standing in front of you.’_

Once the song ends, and a much faster one begins, shaking Negan from his trance, he decides maybe he should wake up Rick. He’s just not so sure of how to do that when he looks so fucking tranquil, even with his cheek laying smooshed against the hardwood floor.

Reluctantly, he moves closer to him, kneeling down to his level as he tries to find the will to rip Rick out of his slumber.

“Hey,” he begins, as softly as he can with the music playing, while he shakes his shoulder lightly, “Hey, Rick, wak-”

Rick startles awake, sucking in a sharp breath as his arm comes flying out in defense, nearly striking Negan in the face.

 _“Jesus fucking Christ!”_ He shouts, backing away as Rick comes to, frantically eyeing his surroundings until he realizes where he is, then he seems to relax, but only a little bit.

“Sorry,” Rick says, voice full of rasp and a tinge of embarrassment. Negan thinks it sounds like he’s saying sorry for a lot of things, “I didn’t mean to hit you, or- or listen to your records and fall asleep on your floor.”

Negan smirks, an attempt to lighten the mood, “That’s all alright by me, sweetheart. My floor is your floor, and my records are your records.”

“As for the hitting, well, we’ll have to build a nice, warm, safe, little consensual home for all that fun, freaky-deaky shit. Y’kno, safewords and all that jazz.”

Rick smiles, small but genuine, as his face floods with a lovely red color. Negan counts it as a win.

When he sees Rick’s bloodshot eyes, all puffy and tired, he thinks maybe he won’t bug Rick about the show. They can just stay in and listen to records, and maybe kiss or do a little more- if Rick is up for it.

But then, after a long, silent pause, Rick looks up at Negan with a budding grin and asks, “We still goin’ on that date?”

Negan’s smirk deepens impossibly so, “You bet your cute little ass we are. So you better wear somethin’ real pretty, Rick Grimes.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much for reading! As always, constructive criticism is more than welcome. I appreciate all of your kind words, more than I can even begin to explain. :)  
> I hope I didn't confuse anyone with the introduction of an original character. I plan to have more original characters like Charles who are just passing faces n names, so I hope you guys enjoyed him lmao.  
> Also, sorry for any typos ;)


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: USAGE OF HOMOPHOBIC SLURS NEAR END OF CHAPTER  
> I gotta be honest, this chapter was really tough for me to write, just because social issues like the ones that are addressed (albeit vaguely) in this chapter are very touchy and sensitive topics, but I'm very passionate about issues like this, and they are going to be a constant reoccurance in this story as they have A LOT to do with Rick and his character's future and development- especially in the sequel for this story, which I already have so many ideas for.  
> I can only hope that the challenge of branching out of my comfort zone like this will still remain respectful and empathetic. Thank you all for reading! :)
> 
> Songs mentioned in this chapter include:  
> 'Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow?' By Carole King  
> 'Little Wing' by Jimi Hendrix (GREAT FREAKIN SONG)  
> 'Everlong' by the Foo Fighters (this is the park song)

Once they're ready, Rick and Negan decide it’s better to walk to the venue, since it’s relatively close to their place and, according to Negan, finding a parking on the 5th can be a real "ass-sucking bitch of a job."

It's a calm, Spring evening and the sky is still bright, though its light is growing duller as every minute passes by. The air is warm, but not assaulting, hissing past their ears like the cars that drive alongside their path.

Rick and Negan stroll about, holding hands for the entire city of Austin to see. It makes Rick feel so vulnerable, being public about his affections with a man of the same sex, but the warmth of Negan's hand keeps him grounded enough, and he's beginning to love this feeling; this open, free-loving feeling.

Negan’s rambling about how great the show is gonna be, how excited he is, and how Terry and The Soulmen- that's the full name of the act, it turns out- are gravely underrated, when he pulls a joint out of his pocket. “Now, music is great and live music is even fucking greater, but live music while you're high? Well, slap my ass and make sure I’m breathin’, baby, cause that shit is other worldly.”

Rick’s eyes bulge out of his head at an alarming rate, his head scoping the area frantically for cops, or anyone who may be playing witness. He watches as Negan sticks the joint in his mouth, grabbing his lighter and torching it up, as casual as ever.

_“Are you insane?!”_ Rick questions, voice shrill but quiet, tearing his hand away from Negan’s, “You can't smoke that out here!”

Negan looks at him indignantly, though an even layer of amusement coats his eyes. He blows out a cloud of stinky smoke near Rick’s face, mockingly so. Rick rushes to fan it away with his hand.

“Oh yeah? And why not?” He inquires, eyes so incredibly teasing.

Rick scoffs, “Because, it's _illegal!_ ” He answers innocently, like it's obvious- or like the other man actually gives a shit.

Negan rolls his eyes, the joint hanging from his lips slightly slurring his speech, “It’s fuckin’ Austin, babe. A breeze blows in smelling like fuckin’ kush and ball sweat and no one bats a damn eye.” He further solidifies his argument by blowing out a series of smoke rings.

Rick tries not to be so awed by it, though his eyes linger, watching the rings stretch and wobble until they vanish wholly into the air. He shrugs, and silently decides maybe Negan has a point.

After a quiet moment, Negan holds the joint out towards Rick, wordlessly offering it to him. Rick eyes it reluctantly for a second, but ultimately accepts the offer. He takes a long drag, blue eyes hard and unrelenting as they bore into Negan’s, and then he exhales, releasing the smoke into the air.

Negan smirks, tongue sliding between his teeth, glossy eyes carrying so much mischief it makes Rick smile, the joint still hanging between his lips.

“You’re gonna drive me crazy lookin’ at me like that now, baby,” He says, low and deep in his chest, nearly a purr. Rick chuckles, and takes another puff as Negan slings an arm around his shoulders, pulling him in close. To complement the gesture, he wraps a heavy arm around Negan’s waist, clutching him just the same.

Not one stranger bats an eye, at the joint or their affections, and thanks to the dopey combination of the weed and the man clinging dear to him, Rick feels invincible. He feels like the people around him can’t touch him, can’t harm him. He feels like nothing that exists outside of his and Negan’s rosy bubble is even real- and that’s definitely the weed, but it’s a nice feeling, almost as if it’s just the two of them walking down the wide expanse of the street, beneath the faint, yellow streetlight and the blue, ready-ripening sky.

When they’re at the doors of the place, feeling loose and laughy, the joint having been stomped out on the floor by Negan’s boot a few blocks back, Negan pays for their tickets, and they head inside. The place is basically a bar, the main purpose of it being to serve beer and other alcoholic beverage and what not- the live music is just a bit of eye and ear candy, used to suade people into choosing this particular place as their drinking destination. And apparently that tactic has worked, since according to Negan, this bar is the best place to come hear and see some good live Blues and Soul.

People of all ages make up the workings of a modest yet growing crowd, some sitting at tables and booths, sharing light conversation with their constituents over drinks and bar food, while some crowd near the stage, where Terry and The Soulmen are soundchecking and tuning up.

He’s about to ask Negan whether he wants to sit or stand, when the man turns towards Rick, giddily saying, “Let’s go say what’s up to Terry and the boys!” and then Rick’s being led towards the stage by the hand that holds his, Negan parting the crowd unabashedly as he makes his way towards the group.

“Terry, my man!” He calls, pushing himself up onto the stage, and sitting leisurely on the edge of it, while Rick stands witness beside him. It really is a small venue to play, so there’s no guards or security. Negan surely takes advantage of that.

Terry, who’d been in light conversation with his bassist, turns his head at the sound of his name. When his eyes fall upon Negan, his face lights up impossibly so, and then he’s making his way over to him. “Negan, brother!” He calls, squatting down to pull the man into a friendly, half hug, “I’m so glad to see ya’ brother, so glad! Means so much to me an’ my boys!”

Rick sees the ear-splitting grin that takes hold of Negan’s face, and he can’t help but smile a little himself, “Wouldn't have missed it for the fucking world, man, I’ll tell you that damn much.”

Terry gives Negan a look so grateful it speaks volumes, his middle-aged eyes glowing with flattery. Then his sights land on Rick, and he turns to give Negan a saucy look. “This ya’ honey?” he questions, raising a smug brow as his eyes gesture towards Rick, who’s standing there, smiling sheepishly.

Negan glances back towards Rick with nearly the same look, and if the lighting weren’t so dim, Rick thinks he’d be able to see a flush on the man’s cheeks. “Yeah, that’s my _honey,_ ” he answers, sparing Rick a wink before he turns to sock Terry playfully in the shoulder.

Terry laughs a hyena’s laugh, effortlessly emanating joy, “He a cute lil’ man. I don’t know how an ugly sucka’ like you got so lucky. God must really love yo’ ass.” Negan barks out a laugh, and Rick joins in easily. “He really must, man,” Negan agrees, looking back at Rick with eyes that sparkle from so much more than his high.

Then suddenly, he’s turning back to Terry, and digging something out of his pocket. “Almost forgot, man. I got you a little gift.” Negan hands the man a joint, slightly weathered by the trip it took in his jacket pocket.

Terry accepts the gift with wild excitement, profusely thanking Negan as he starts ranting about the joys of playing music under the influence of some sweet Mary Jane, an argument not unlike the one Negan had voiced earlier on in the evening.

Then Rick listens in as they eagerly chat about the setlist for the night; what songs Terry and his boys will be covering, and what original songs they’re gonna play.

“Ay, man, you should do a number with us!” Terry suggests, out of the blue, “We could use some nimble fingers like the ones on you, brother.”

Negan looks like a kid on Christmas morning, “You want to, man? I’d be fuckin’ down as all hell, just say the word.”

Terry nods in pleasure, “Awww yeah, man. I got a song we could do. You knows it like the back of ya’ hand, brother.”

They settle their plan, working out the tiny knots that lay problem, and deciding they’ll pick Negan from the crowd when the time comes. Then, the three of them are saying their goodbyes, Negan and Rick wishing Terry a good show, and Terry wishing Negan and Rick a good time.

-

The show starts off with some fast, pop number. Just by the words Rick can tell it’s an old song, though he doesn’t necessarily know the tune. Negan on the other hand, by the looks of it, definitely knows the song. He’s whooping and dancing, brashly singing along to the music without a single care in the world.

For a while, Rick is just watching him in sheer amusement, calm and narrow, until Negan’s eyes lock with his, and they glitter excitedly.

Then he’s grabbing Rick by the arms, pulling him in to make his party of one a party of two, spilling his enthusiasm all over Rick like a cheap, two dollar beer as they do a dance that’s more of a sway and jump sort of thing- no rhythm or coordination required.

They continue like that for every number, grinning and laughing and bopping, bodies bumping joyously into each others and into complete strangers while Negan cries out the words to nearly every song.

As the night ages slowly from tune to tune, Rick grows worn and sweaty in the best way, gathering perspiration from not only himself but Negan and all the other people he’s shoulder to shoulder with, warm skin platonically meeting other warm skin. He finds himself not minding it one bit. In fact, it feels unifying, like a wordless, invisible bond has been formed between him and all the people standing around him in this bar, just through this salty bodily fluid. It’s only when Terry speaks into the mic that Rick and Negan settle down, vaguely listening to what the man is saying while they break to gaze into each other’s eyes.

Despite the adrenaline pumping through his body, Negan’s stare still sends a shiver traveling down Rick’s spine, running quickly down into his stomach, where it lays down a thick blanket of warmth.

“We’re gonna slow it down just for a minute, folks. We’d say we sorry ‘bout it, but we ain’t," Terry announces, his bluntness earning a laugh from the crowd, “This next song was written by the world’s most soulful white woman to date.”

Then a piano plays out a light melody, loud enough so all ears plus more can hear, but still it remains feeling incredibly soft. Rick turns his gaze from Negan to watch how the pianist not a few feet away from him handles the instrument, sees how he has his eyes shut with raw passion.

When Rick’s gaze returns to Negan, he sees how he’s still looking at him undividedly, with a look in his glossy eyes sweeter than anything Rick has ever seen, the dim, bluish light reflecting softly from his warm colored irises. Then his grip on the smaller man’s arms loses its hyped aggression, replacing itself with something much more gentle, as though he seeks to only touch and feel. Rick stares back, his eyes carrying the weight of his own perplexity.

Negan disregards his look, or maybe he’s just oblivious to it, and reaches a hand out to tuck away a stray, sweaty strand of curly hair. He shudders when Negan’s calloused fingers brushes against the shell of his ear, and then the words Terry sings break through his thick skull, as though the touch has ignited his sense of hearing.

_Tonight you're mine, completely._

_You give your love so sweetly._

_Tonight the light of love is in your eyes, but will you love me tomorrow?_

_Is this a lasting treasure, or just a moment's pleasure?_

_Can I believe the magic of your sighs?_

_Will you still love me tomorrow?_

_Tonight with words unspoken, you say that I'm the only one._

_But will my heart be broken when the night meets the morning sun?_

_I'd like to know that your love, is love I can be sure of._

_So tell me now and I won't ask again._

_Will you still love me tomorrow?_

He feels his body being flooded with that same frightful weariness that had so easily consumed him earlier this morning. Negan sees his apprehension, somehow, probably recognizes it from earlier as well, and his face runs dry with his own brand of fear- a fear that he’s lost Rick.

Then he's moving his hands to Rick's waist, holding on gently as he pulls him closer, slow enough so Rick can pull away if he decides he wants to. Rick doesn't want to.

Negan leans in tentatively, eyes briefly scanning Rick’s before they fall shut, lips meeting lips.

It's a gentle kiss, containing none of the fever their previous kisses had carried. Rick is momentarily paralyzed by the feel, lips slack while Negan’s left to bear all the work.

He can feel how the other man grows disheartened, his mouth coming to a stop, the grip at his sides loosening, and Rick knows he has to react now if he doesn't want this to stop, but his mind is a muddled sack of watery mush, shocked and stimulated.

When he feels Negan’s lips halt, the plush pressure peeling away, head inching backwards and out of his space, he finally snaps out of it. He grabs Negan’s face with both hands, relishes in the way stubble scrapes against his overheated palms just for a second, and then he rejoins their mouths desperately, slow and sliding, humming low in his stomach when he feels Negan responding fervently, his hands regaining their purpose on his body.

They pull away with a deafening smack, timing immaculate with the ending of the song, and wild rounds of applause and cheer sound for the sake of Terry and the Soul Men. Rick feels like that applause is for him, despite the hard evidence that it clearly isn't.

Negan joins in on the whoops and hollers, fist in the air as he pulls Rick closer into his side, joy replanted in every inch of visible skin.

Once the crowd has settled considerably, Terry’s speaking into the mic, sweaty and smiling and out of breath, picking Negan out from the crowd like he had promised. Rick’s sure only a small fraction of the people in that room know who Negan is- and that an even smaller fraction know him as Negan the guitar player rather than Negan the guy who works at that one record store- but everyone still cheers him on as he makes his way onstage, in true kind and drunken spirit.

Rick likes to think he cheers the loudest.

-

“You looked so hot up there with your guitar-” Rick slurs lowly into Negan’s ear as they walk drunkenly down the sidewalk, all too much in each other’s space as they parade in one another’s highs. “Well it wasn’t your guitar, it was that guy’s- but you looked _so_ fucking hot. I love that you play guitar. It’s so... _hot._ ”

Negan chuckles lightly, despite the shudder that Rick’s hot breath grazing across his neck induces.

Rick’s drunk off his ass. Negan’s a little tipsy himself, but Rick is fucking wasted.

After the show, Terry and the boys invited him and Rick backstage for some free, celebratory drinks, and although the two had drank about the same amount, Rick is evidently not too tolerant of alcohol- and it turns out he’s a _very_ talkative drunk.

“You know who’s hot, too?” Rick asks.

“Who?” Negan humors, keeping an arm wound tight around the other boy’s waist.

“Jimi Hendrix,” he tells him, a dreamy lull to his voice, “He’s very handsome. I think he might have some of the best music I've ever listened to. He wrote _Little Wing_ , right?" Negan gives a brief nod to answer his question. " _Little Wing_ is so good, that part where he sings about the free smiles always makes me feel so good inside, I wish I could-  _Do you hear that?_ ” Rick’s head cocks animatedly towards the sounds that have distracted him.

Negan laughs, an honest and amused hoot, “Yeah, babe, it’s music.”

_“Where?”_ He asks, incredulous, as though he hasn’t lived a day in this damn city.

“Over there.” Negan points to a spot in a park, where strings of colorful lights hang around the perimeter of a large tent. Underneath it, a band of young teens are playing, and a scattered amount of people lounge on the grass to have a smoke and a beer, listening to the music and just enjoying their Saturday night.

“Let’s go!” Rick says, nearly gasping, looking up at Negan with a question in his eyes, though his tone is sure.

Negan looks down at him and his sweet blue eyes, sees the excitement in them from earlier in the evening that has yet to die down.

He’s a little more than tired, can feel where his feet and his calves are gonna ache tomorrow in the morning when all the adrenaline and the alcohol wear away, but right now, as he gazes softly at the boy that stands by his side, he finds he can’t say no. He doesn’t want to either.

“Alright, let’s go,” he nods, and Rick lights up, grabbing Negan’s hand and dashing across the street, a drunken fool and a half, cars honking wildly at them as they cross paths with the traffic of a busy weekend night in Austin.

“You’re a crazy fuckin’ drunk,” Negan tells him once they reach the park.

Rick, who’s been giggling like mad, giggles even harder in response to the other man’s comment, as if near death experiences are of the highest ranking on the comedy hierarchy.

Negan’s laughing a little himself, slightly shaken, and a little more than enamored.

They pick a secluded spot on the grass that allows them some privacy from all the other park-goers and music listeners, laying down on the ground like it could be the portal to heaven. Negan sighs at the relief of being off of his feet, and closes his eyes, letting the fresh feel of the lush greenery tickle at his hands and the back of his neck while the music lay distant, but still loud enough for his ears to hear and his body to acknowledge.

“This is my third time gettin’ drunk,” Rick says, almost as if he’s confessing, “This’s my first time getting drunk without my parents bein’ around.”

At first, Negan isn’t sure of whether he should laugh or not, but the alcohol in his system decides what Rick has confided in him is all too funny, so he laughs a thick, long chortle, “You are such a fuckin’ square, Rick. You’re a big, college-goin’, motherfuckin’ quadrilateral.”

Rick turns to face Negan, blankly gazing into his eyes as he says, “If I’m a square, you’re a circle.”

“You’re so fucking drunk right now, I’m not even gonna try to figure out what that’s supposed to mean.” Negan says, laughing despite himself.

Whether there was actual meaning behind Rick’s words, or if they were just drunken banter, Rick doesn’t explain, and Negan doesn’t mind.

They fall into a comfortable silence, no touching, no talking, no looking. They just lay there, soaking up all the coolness of the ground that runs into their bodies.

Negan’s watching the stars twinkle and pop, nearly falling into a sound sleep when he hears a riff, a very memorable riff from a song he knows he’s heard before, but still he strains to remember it.

It’s on the tip of his tongue, just one more ounce of brainpower and he’ll have it, he’s sure-

“Hey!” A drunken Rick proclaims, shaking Negan’s shoulder profusely, “It’s the Foo Fighters!”

A dumb wave of realization dawns over him in that moment, making his brain sigh, and then he can’t help but be amused, and the biggest bit proud, because _damn_ , Rick knows this song.

Negan doesn’t think he’s ever even shown this particular song to him either, which is even _more_ impressive.

Never did he think there would come a day where Rick, sweet, musically oblivious Rick, would beat him at his own game- and while he’s drunk, too.

He tells Rick that much, and the younger boy replies with, “You’ve corrupted me. Now I get drunk and high and worship Dave Grohl, that's how I'm so musically cultured now.”

Negan laughs, “Oh, is it now?”

“Mhm,” Rick hums, body slow and sleazy as he moves closer towards Negan, lifting a leg to straddle his body, “I’ve been a _bad, bad boy._ ”

Negan chokes out another laugh as Rick settles his weight down into his lap, this time in utter disbelief, “Well, _ho-ly shit_ , Rick Grimes. I don’t think I believe you.”

He moves his hands to rest on Rick’s hips, light and loving.

Rick grins down at him, devilish and beaming, a look he’s never seen before. “No?” He asks, his voice playing innocent.

Negan smiles up at him and says, softly, “Not one bit.”

“Well,” Rick sighs, hands meeting Negan’s chest as he says, voice so clear and smooth, “I guess I’ll just have to show you, huh?”

Negan’s never seen Rick this way, so confident and sure, not thinking about a single word he says or any tiny move he makes. He knows it’s got to be a symptom of all the alcohol he’s consumed, but he can’t say he’s not enjoying it.

“And how are ya’ gonna do that, baby?” He all but purrs, tongue darting out to lick his lips as he stares so shamelessly at Rick’s gorgeous mouth.

He expects the next voice he hears to be Rick’s naughty, mildly vulgar reply, but instead it’s a stern, authoritative voice saying, “Excuse me, but I’m going to have to ask you two to vacate the premises immediately.”

He looks up and sees Rick, distraught and confused, looking past Negan’s body.

Negan tilts his head backwards, trying to see who in the _everloving fuck_ would try to intervene on whatever was going on between him and Rick.

He sees navy blue slacks and a black pair of shiny cops shoes. He sighs.

“I’m sorry, sir, is there something goin’ on?” Rick inquires, still sitting on Negan’s crotch. His voice is full of pure concern, sounding ten times more sober than he did just a minute ago.

Negan just stares up at his face.

“Now don't play smart with me, son. We’ve been getting complaints about the two of you from several park-goers. We’re only giving you one warning before things should have to get serious.”

Negan looks around at all the people in the park, laughing and drinking and smoking and kissing and dry humping on the grass as they mind their own business, not a far cry from the picture he and Rick were painting only a moment ago. Only difference is he and Rick both have dicks, and he knows that alone is the cause for all this.

Rick on the other hand, couldn’t get the message, blinded by his drunkenness and his naivety.

“Rick, let’s just go home,” he says flatly, squeezing his hip urgently in hopes to convince him to just _move._

_“No,”_ Rick states, shaking his head fervently, pressing his hand harder into Negan’s chest as if it could make the man lay still and quiet. “We’re not doing anything wrong,” he says, to both Negan and the cop.

Negan groans internally. Drunk Rick might be even more stubborn that sober Rick.

“I won’t tell you again, young man,” The cop says, and though Negan hasn’t seen this dude’s face, he can tell he’s an old fucker. He can hear the way his old, wrinkly, outdated lips are pursed in a power-driven line, how the gentle resistance he’s encountered has agitated him.

_“Then don’t,”_ Rick tells him, and his voice is so firm and biting, yet still so calm. Negan sees how his jaw is clenched tight, how it locks his tongue away, keeping him from saying anything else, anything too daring.

Negan hears the sound of metal clinking together, of feet shuffling closer towards them in the grass, and _God fucking damn_ _him_ if Rick is about to get arrested on their first fucking date.

He acts quick, abruptly thrusting his hips upwards with as much force as his body allows, knocking Rick onto the grass beside him. Once he gets to his feet, he yanks Rick off of the ground, pulling him safely to his side as they high tail the fuck out of there, hand in hand while the cop curses out a string of insults and profanities.

They keep running until Negan decides they’re safe and sound, which just so happens to be when he feels a stabbing pain in his core and a wave of green, whirly nausea assaulting his entire body.

He wills his body to keep it all in his gut, tries to even out his breathing, but it’s all for naught, because seconds later he’s heaving it all up into a nearby bush, retching and gasping as he retastes all the contents of his stomach.

“You okay?” Rick asks, voice slightly wobbly. He’s only minorly affected by the running, his words running clear and smooth through Negan’s foggy ears.

He sighs, bracing himself with his hands on his knees, still trying to catch his breath. “I’m fine and motherfucking… dandy, Ricky.” He tells him, a heavy gag hitching his words.

When his breathing has finally stabilized, and he can stand up straight, he makes his way over to Rick, who feels too far away all of a sudden. He sees how the boy’s arms are crossed indignantly, how his face is furrowed with sorrow and confusion, looking utterly rejected.

Still he can’t help but ask, “What the _fuck_ was that back there? You tryna spend a night or two in the fucking tank?”

“We weren’t doing anything wrong. There wasn’t anything for anyone to complain about-”

_“There were no complaints, Rick!”_ He urges, “No one was flipping their shit, everyone was getting drunk and high and fucking touching dicks and tits. No one gave a fuck but that fucking lint-shit fuzz motherfucker.”

“Then why did he-”

“Cuz we both have _dicks_ , Rick! We’re two glittery, fuckin’ fruit scented fairies! Jesus Christ, are you that fucking naive?!” He’s throwing his hands around in fits of frustration, voice shrill and exasperated, and maybe a touch too harsh, but _God_ , can’t Rick just fucking open his eyes?

“That doesn’t mean he can- he can’t… do that,” Rick mumbles, and Negan can see how his brain is coming to realization, chaining link by devastating link until it all wraps tight around his neck. Negan watches as an innocent piece of Rick dies off, watches his eyes lose a little light.

All the anger drains from his body, replaced instead by a new brand of devastated exhaustion. “Yeah, they can, and they can do so much worse,” he says, “You think us half fags got it bad? Think about the full fags, the brown fags, the black fags, the trans fags. We’re lucky we got to fucking run away.”

Rick still looks so troubled, silently chewing on the inside of his cheek, staring at the ground like it’ll grant him answers- or any sort of justified explanation. Negan can’t even begin to imagine the marathon he knows is running its course in the plains of his mind.

“I just don’t understand,” he says, finally, gazing up at Rick with sad, crystal-like eyes.

Negan gives a small, tethered smirk, trying desperately to lighten the mood despite the way his heart sits heavy in his chest. “You’d think a freaky ass city like Austin would be a little more open-minded, huh?”

He takes the boy's hand in his, and tries to ignore how his grip has grown hesitant.

“C’mon,” he says softly, “Let’s go home.”

-

Negan wakes up the next morning in Rick’s bed, tangled in a mess of the boy’s arms and legs, as well as the light duvet draped over the top of them.

Beth, at least that’s who Negan’s assuming it is, is pounding on the door like her life depends on it.

Rick groans, moving to bury his aching head underneath a pillow, “Is that Beth?”

“NEGAN, GET THE FUCK UP WE HAVE BAND PRACTICE!” Comes a large-lung holler, the door doing nothing to muffle it.

Negan gives a deep sigh. “Yeah, that’s Beth... I'll get it.”

He reluctantly untangles himself from Rick, making his way to the door before the girl behind it can even think about unleashing another wild can of whoop ass on it.

_“I’m fucking coming!”_ he hisses, once he’s finally face to face with Beth.

_“Hurry,”_ She urges, much quieter this time. Her voice is slow and desperate, pumping gallons of emphasis into that one word, and Negan can see the eagerness in her young, blue eyes. He finds it’s nearly tangible.

Negan rolls his eyes, but it lacks its usual attitude, “Fine, just let me put some fucking clothes on.”

It’s The Saviors first real practice since The Pig, and while he’s sure they’re all itching to get back into the swing of things, he knows Beth’s excitement stems from something much deeper, something that has a whole lot to do with being stuck in a room with a certain drummer for several hours. Negan’s gut tells him this practice may not end so well, at least not between Beth and Daryl, but he’s been so deprived of a full-band jam that he’s willing to brave this potential storm.

“Go load up some gear while you wait,” he tells her, and surprisingly, she complies. Negan didn’t think she was _that_ eager. “But _don’t_ touch my fucking guitars,” he calls, which earns him an icy, mirthless glare.

He turns back into the room, sees Rick sitting up in bed, sheets rucked haphazardly over his half naked body while his head rests against the wooden frame, staring pensively at whatever just so happens to lay in the line of his bloodshot eyes.

Then the events that took place last night reoccur to him, both the sour and the sweet, and though Rick had been ridiculously hammered during the latter part of their evening, he can tell by the look on his face that he must remember _those_ parts that took place.

He doesn’t take notice of Negan even as the man inches closer to him, not until he feels the dip of the bed as Negan sits near his feet.

“What are you thinking about?” He asks softly, Rick’s eyes moving somberly from Negan and back to the wall again.

“Too much,” he tells, Adam’s apple bobbing in his pale throat as he swallows hard. He meets Negan’s eyes again, and a veil of something makes the bright blue of his irises fall downcast, and he tries again, “That cop.”

Negan can’t help the sigh that falls heavy from his lungs. “We’re fine, okay? We’re going to be fine. There’s fucked up people out there, but you can’t let them scare you into being a certain way.” He doesn’t like how it sounds as though he’s speaking to a child, and by the look on Rick’s face, he can tell the boy doesn’t like it much either.

He looks so very misunderstood, like a teenager who’s run out of fight. Negan has to stop and remember that last year, he was just a teenager, and that Rick is still so young. He’s still learning so much. _Shit_ , Negan himself is still learning so much.

“Yeah,” Rick says, though his voice shows no signs of agreement, “Yeah, okay.”

He still sounds so far away, so awfully distraught. “I had so much fun with you last night,” He tells Rick, because he wants him to know. He reaches out to hold his hand, “Nothing can change that. No one.”

Rick looks up at him, still so terribly dispirited, but now a flicker of something dares to break its way through all the muddled blue, and a small, watery smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. He nods, honestly, “Me too.”

Those two words make Negan’s heart swell, and he finds himself thinking maybe it’s just the person who saying them that make him feel that way.

He feels a goofy grin begin to consume him, Rick’s face mirroring his own nearly to a tee. “I’ll see ya’ in a few hours, babe,” he says finally, leaning in to plant a long kiss on Rick’s mouth. He plants another one on the tip of his nose when he pulls away, just for good measure.

“Missin’ you already,” Rick says as he watches Negan grab his pants off the floor and struggle to put them on one leg at a time.

Once he’s dressed to the nines (in the same clothes he’d been wearing last night), he gets another quick peck in, and then he’s grabbing his guitar, and jetting out the door.

Beth scolds him again for taking _“for-fucking-ever!”_ , in her words, but he doesn’t mind it. He’s got a feeling riding high in his brain like a bright, red balloon in the kind, summer sky.

It tells him- like a loving, caring friend, _“Hey buddy, things are gonna be so fucking great.”_

He trusts that feeling, though it deserves not one ounce of it. It’s a feeling that has been so backstabbing in the past, but he doesn’t fear it anymore. He finds that sometimes it can bring him great things, even if just for a little while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! All of your kind words mean SO MUCH to me, I can't even begin to express it.  
> As always, constructive criticism is more than welcome, and very much appreciated. :)


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this one took a little longer than usual to get out... Kendrick dropped a new album so I dropped everything I was doin!!
> 
> Songs mentioned in this chapter include:  
> 'Since I've Been Loving You' by Led Zeppelin  
> 'Case of You' by Joni Mitchell (song playing in Glenn's room)  
> 'Seasons in the Sun' by Terry Jacks

Band practice starts off great, and Negan deeply cherishes that first hour and a half, holds it near and dear to his heart, he really does- especially after it all goes spiraling down the drain, fleeting quick and clean like water.

Beth and Negan are the last to arrive at Daryl’s house, so when they walk in, they walk in on an all-consuming, whole-hearted, hip shaking, back breaking groove, just Dwight’s bass and Daryl’s drums cruising right on down lover’s lane, and filling the house with an amazing air.

When the drummer spots the two of them, his mouth opens to say something, arms still going in.

 _“Don’t you even fucking think about stopping now, Dixon!”_ He yells, shutting the other man up before he can even get a peep out.

Negan sets his amp up in record time, plugging his baby into the box with anxious fingers that tingle and shake. He doesn't even set up his whole board, just grabs his distortion pedal and the wah, wiring them up quickly. Then he's got his hands on the strings- hard, bare skin on cool, coiled strings, no time to pinch a pick between his fingers before he’s got his guitar wailing, spilling its guts out right on Daryl’s living room floor.

A large, crunchy squeal sounds from the instrument, and he lets the sound fade wildly into something shrill and thin before he even dares to hit another note. When he starts pedaling the wah, he hears Beth whoop and holler, looks up and sees the undeterred joy that heartily eats up her face, all other worries and troubles pushed to the farthest, deepest pit in her mind.

She makes her cries of energy fit so effortlessly into the music, and she's a sponge of pure fuel, giving and taking all she can get from all the sounds that surround her as her body moves and flows carelessly with the rhythms.

They continue like that for a while, their jam morphing and twisting and turning into whatever the hell they subconsciously decide it to be, like a hot wax bubble in a lava lamp that just flies and falls, and stretches and bends- only their bubble never tears, it just grows larger and larger.

‘Til it pops right in their faces:

They find themselves playing ‘Since I've Been Loving You’ by Led Zep (who knows how, it just happened, and they all know and love that song, so none of them seemed to mind that they'd ended up there), and Beth, who was already fairly hoarse from all her yelling, poured everything in her mind, body, and soul- _and then some -_ into singing that song.

Her voice carried so much and anger and resentment, Negan felt himself paying more attention to her than his own playing, because Beth’s voice so naturally demands that kind of undivided attention, especially now, as she practically screams into the mic like it’s God’s ear,  and they're finally listening to all her unattended to cries for help.

_“Do you remember, Daddy, when I knocked upon your door? You had the nerve to tell me you didn’t want me no more. Open my front door, hear my back door slam. I said, ‘Hey baby, Hey baby! I got a new back door man.’”_

She was rasping and groaning, crying and moaning. She didn’t give a single shit when her voice started cracking, when it started wavering so hard it sounded like it was wearing thin away, like it could vanish into the tense air around them, and never be seen again.

Negan had never seen Beth like this. Actually, when he thinks about it, he’s never seen _anyone_ like this, especially not someone he was so close to, someone he had confided in so deeply on multiple occasions, someone who had so honestly and selflessly listened to him. It was troubling to witness, and it made a knot of worry wicker thickly in all the muscles of his body.

They were nearing the end of the song, still a few lines to go, and while Negan was sure Beth still had some more heart to spill right out of her sleeve, he had to stop it. He couldn’t bear to watch her self-destruct anymore.

When his fingers fumbled on his guitar, coming to a sudden halt, everyone else followed easily.

Dwight and Beth looked at him like he was insane for stopping, like they wanted to punch him for it.

Daryl couldn’t even look at him, and he had an idea as to why.

Negan’s eyes met Beth’s and he saw how she opened her mouth to try and speak, most likely protest, but nothing came out, nothing but a dry scratch, followed by a harrowed wince that wholly consumed her face.

Their first song and her cords were already fuckin’ dunzo. A new personal record, though it didn’t seem as gratifying, at least not from what Negan could see.

“Maybe- Maybe we should take a break,” Beth managed to croak out, despite her condition. Negan felt himself cringe at her tone, like gravel and sandpaper spun around in a blender, served atop a heaping pile of hot glass shards. It was _that_ fuckin’ hideous.

“It’s only our first damn song, for Christ’s fuckin’ sake!” Daryl protested.

Every head turned to face the drummer, who looked insanely pissed compared to how he had appeared just ten seconds ago.

Negan watched as a scowl grew on Beth’s face, and he sent up a silent prayer for the sake of her vocal cords, because there was no way in fat fucking hell Beth was gonna let anything that came out of Daryl’s mouth go unargued.

“Yeah?” She mused, sinking her teeth into every raspy word, “You wanna sing, _Dixon?_ I’m sure you got yourself a pretty lil’ voice that we’d all _loooove_ to fuckin’ hear!”

“Darlin’, any voice on God’s green _fuckin’_ earth would sound better than _yours_ right now. Any fuckin’ voice could do what you do, all your fuckin' screamin' and moanin' nonsense _shit_ …”

Dwight and Negan eyed each other from across the room in complete and utter shock, jaws hanging low, sharing a kindred look of _“Did he really just say that?”_ before they both focused in on Beth who was absolutely fuming with anger.

Negan saw the way her blue eyes lay wounded just for a second, before her fury truly encompassed her.

He listened as she let out a bitter, mirthless laugh that sounded more like a wheeze with how screwed her voice was. “You think you’re _better_ than me?”

 _God damn_ _,_ Negan thought. Even with more than half her voice gone, she still managed to use it and use it fucking good, even with just a couple words- and if that doesn’t just show how motherfucking great Beth is at what she does.

Negan watches as Daryl tries not to cower underneath her condescending tone, or the way she looks at him like he’s sour milk. He’s gotta give it to the dude, if he were in his position, he’d be just about pissing _and_ shitting his pants all at the same fucking time, but Daryl looks, for the most part, fairly intact. From that, Negan assumes this isn’t the first time he’s been at the receiving end of Beth’s scalding wrath.

“You think you’re better than me ‘cause you can move your hands and feet at the same fuckin' time, hit a fuckin’ drum two times in a row, and come up with all your shitty little fuckin’ church beats?” She continues, her volume building as her words continue to make their way out.

Daryl sits silently behind his kit, but his gaze bears no fault, and his stare seems almost numb as his eyes bore straight into her eyes.

His silence only pisses her off even more, which is probably why he utilized that tactic.

 _‘'Huh?!”_ She yells, voice frighteningly shrill yet gruff as she smashes her hand against one of his cymbals, making all of them flinch, “You think _anyone_ could replace me?”

Her voice is a quiet rasp on that last line, and Negan hears the double meaning that lies within it.

It’s a quiet little tidbit of insight on whatever the fuck might be going on between the two of them.

Daryl’s eyes fall downcast. Beth’s face is set as hard as stone.

“You think anyone could make you come as hard as I can? Fuck you as good as Ican?”

Dwight and Negan’s eyes meet once again, bulging hard and wide out of their skulls, because _Holy shit, they were fucking?!_ Why the fuck didn’t Beth ever fucking tell him this vital piece of fucking information?

“Get out of my _fucking_ house,” Daryl spits, eyes still far away from Beth's.

Beth laughs again, that same intimidating as fuck laugh, “Wouldn’t be the first time you kicked me out, now would it?”

-

 _“Rick!”_ Glenn groans, for what has to be the umpteenth time that afternoon. _“Stop moving_ or we’re gonna be here for _freaking hours!”_

He moves to grab Rick’s chin, urgent but delicate as he meticulously repositions his friend’s face.

“Okay,” he sighs, once he feels all has fallen back into place, “You can continue now.”

Rick rolls his eyes as Glenn averts his attention back to his paper and pencil.

“It's kind of impossible to talk and not move my face,” he retorts, keeping his whole body rigid and stiff, even though it's only his face that needs to keep still.

“You're the smartest dude I know, I'm sure you'll find a way,” he says, voice distantly monotone while his head hangs low, fully immersed in the strokes his pencil creates.

Rick sighs.

He doesn't know how he got himself here, sitting on a high stool in Glenn's room, his face a muse against the odd and whimsical backdrop that hangs behind his head.

He had called up Glenn not a half hour after Negan had left, asking in distress if he could come over and talk, in dire need of a change of scenery and a good shoulder to lean on. A shoulder that wasn't Negan’s, as great as that shoulder was.

Glenn, ever the benevolent sweetheart, immediately said yes, but failed to mention he was in the middle of a project.

So when the door had swung open, and Rick was met with Glenn’s paint splattered, charcoal smudged form gawking at him like he was a beacon of light, he was a little put off at first.

“Did I…come at a bad time?” He asked, trying to decode his friend’s pensive expression.

Glenn’s eyes searched his face deeper as the seconds ticked on, and it seemed as though all the stressful little lines on his face blurred and faded the longer he looked at Rick’s face.

“You couldn’t have come at more _right_ of a time, Rick,” he answered all too excitedly, an unbelievably bright grin crinkling his eyes. He brushed a hand against Rick’s face like he was a piece of smooth clay china, and Rick grimaced awkwardly at his friend’s unexplained affections, but then Glenn said, “I’m going to need to borrow your face first.”- and sooner than later, Rick found his face being sketched out, to Glenn’s own liking for Glenn’s own art.

“Your face has exactly what I need, exactly what I didn’t even know I was looking for,” He had told Rick whenever he first began to tilt and turn Rick’s head, handling him like he was a kindergartener on picture day. “You have that moody look, I think it’ll go really great with all the colors that I’ve used on my… _thing_ _._ ” Glenn gestured towards the backdrop-esque piece of art that hung behind his head. Rick noticed the mystical mess of cool, chaotic colors, how the harsh, whirling lines of hot color stood out against it all in juxtaposition- a very mesmerizing piece.

“Is this for school?” Rick had asked.

Glenn shook his head frantically, going into a certain mode that he had never witnessed before, “No, this is just for me- _Don’t move._ ” Rick obeyed, listening to the sounds of his friend’s sketching accompanied by the light, nearly melancholic music of a lady folk singer that Rick thinks he’s heard before that plays in the background. She sings about drinking up a lover like they're alcoholic.

He blinks and breathes, that’s the only moving he does, for a while.

He found himself thinking too much of Glenn and his talents. How he wholly consumed himself in something that was just for him, for his own sake and enjoyment. Rick wanted to do that.

He thought about how _good_ Glenn was at what he loved doing. Rick wanted to be like that. Suddenly the fleeting image of those three pages of words flashed through his mind. He saw his handwriting, he saw his own words. He remembered how they could be fixed, how he _could_ get better. But for some reason that filled him with an unorthodox kind of dread.

“So what did you need to talk about?” Glenn had asked, pulling Rick out of one toxic thought and right into another. That’s when Rick explained every little shitty detail about that shitty cop and that shitty bullshit he pulled. Admittedly, he was moving a little too much while he spoke, but the entire topic just did something to him.

“That whole thing sucks ass, man. I mean it.” Glenn comforts after Rick is done, seeing how pent up his friend has become. “You’re lucky you’re safe. That you’re white. Who knows what would’ve happened if you weren’t.”

Rick shivers at that last part, feels that incredibly overwhelming punch of guilt. Then he sighs, “Negan said the same thing, like it could comfort me,” he explains, “and maybe it could comfort some people, but it just makes me feel so… sad.”

Glenn looks up at him with an incredulous look, “Being white makes you feel sad?”

Rick shakes his head, Glenn doesn't scold him for it this one time,“Not sad… Just guilty, I guess? … I-I think about the people who aren’t your standard, white, straight-looking dude being put into the situation I was in and how they know they have nothing to rely on to feel safe, but they still have to live with it. They don’t have that luckiness… and I resent that.”

“Chin up-” Glenn orders, and then he says, softer, “Well, guilt isn’t going to fix anything.”

“I know that. But what else can I do, y’kno? Up until yesterday I'd never been discriminated against my whole life.”

Glenn doesn't answer for a while, paying much more attention to his drawing, while Rick waits impatiently for an answer. Just when he thinks their conversation has died, Glenn looks up, passing his sketchpad over to Rick for him to see, saying, “Maybe, for now, just admitting there's an issue is good enough.”

Rick wants to counter that argument, but instead, he chooses to lay his eyes on Glenn’s work.

He sees a haphazard sketch of someone who looks a lot like him, just older. Rick doesn't remember looking that old. He’s only twenty.

The man’s eyes twinkle tightly, like they're forcefully contained, and though the entire work is done in only pencil, Rick feels like he can see the blue of the irises reflecting back at him.

The brows are bushy and thick, furrowed slightly in a perpetually mild weariness, like he’s become accustomed to his sorrows. Every tiny hair an itch in his brain.

“It’s just a rough sketch,” Glenn says when Rick doesn’t speak, a tiny bit of insecurity coloring his voice, “I just needed to get the structure, and the basic idea. It’ll look a lot better once I’ve pulled it all together-”

“It’s really good,” Rick interrupts, finally finding his voice, “You made me look like I’m actually interesting.”

“You _are_ interesting,” Glenn’s voice is firm, yet so amicably reassuring, “I just draw what I see.”

“Shut up.” Rick mutters, though he’s grinning despite himself.

When Glenn is walking Rick to the door, he says, “I’ll keep you updated on how this piece turns out.”

“Thank you, man. I’m glad my face could… inspire you…?”

“I’m glad, too, man. Sincerely. I hadn’t seen your face in so long I’d forgotten what you’d looked like.”

“Glenn, you see me like three times a week.”

“Yeah, but I never see you outside of school!” He justifies with a shrug. It sounds more like a whine.

Rick just laughs, “Fair point.”

-

The van ride back to the apartment is tense, and damn near depressing.

Everything is silent, save for the hums and crooked clunks of their transportation and the cities noise pollution that has been muffled by the barrier of their vehicle. In the corner of his eye, when he dares to peek, Negan can see how tears stream uncontrollably down Beth’s face, like a shower head with low water pressure. But her face lay placid, jaw un-tellingly clenched while she stares straight ahead, through the thick glass of the windshield.

When they hit a particularly long traffic wait and the silence begins to set even harder, he hears Beth sigh deeply.

Then he hears her shift in her seat, turning to face him. He meets her gaze, and feels his heart break slightly when he sees her face head on, her form a true picture of distress: wet, puffy, red, and pained. When she opens her mouth to try and speak, Negan stops her.

“You don’t have to talk, okay?” He says gently, “Lord knows that shit is painful for you to do, and painful for me to hear.”

The girl rolls her eyes, and Negan is momentarily relieved to see a tiny morsel of her normal self trickle through, but then she speaks.

“I need you to take me to my Dad’s house,” she croaks.

Negan sees both the emotional and physical pain that takes a toll on her as she says the words, from the way she winces but tries to hide it, to how her eyes are wet with gloom.

 _“What?”_ In that moment, he swears he’s hearing shit wrong, or that his brain is fucking up or something, _“Why?”_

She swallows hard, brows furrowing deeply as her cords scrape roughly together just to get a peep out, “I can’t stay with you and Rick anymore. It’s not fair to you guys. Just because me and Daryl’s relationship went to shit, doesn’t mean I have to lay around and shit on yours.” Her voice pinches off into a sharp, abrupt squeak.

“You’re not _shitting_ on anything. Even if you were, we wouldn’t be anything to shit on if it weren’t for you and your meddling ass.”

Beth just shakes her hanging head.

Negan continues on anyways, “And Rick likes you! He likes that you’re my friend and that you sing and make him breakfast sometimes. He was kinda jealous at first but he’s over it, I swear.”

Beth laughs at that last part, but it feels too empty.

“Take me to my Dad’s, Negan.” She says ultimately when the traffic snails onward, creaky voice not faltering despite its fragility.

“I can take you to Glenn and Maggie’s, how about that? You’re cool with her now, right?”

Beth sighs, “Yeah, we’re cool, but I can’t shit on _them_ now. If I’m gonna be a sad bitch, I don’t want to drag anyone down with me. So take me to my Dad’s.”

“But your things-” Negan tries weakly, to which Beth easily shuts down.

“I’ll get them when I can. I have clothes and shit at my house already, I only lived there for seventeen damn years.”

Negan frowns, but doesn’t argue any longer, he just takes her where she wants to go, albeit reluctantly.

When they get there, Negan finds an ache in his chest. The pain must transfer all over his body, leaving him a tender, telling nerve, because he feels Beth’s hand lay soothingly on his shoulder.

He meets her eyes, and feels awfully vulnerable under what he finds.

“You’re my best friend,” Beth says, like she’s six years old, a grin sprouting on her face though it doesn’t match against her sad eyes. It makes Negan laugh, his chortle bubbling up out of him so suddenly it makes Beth follow suit.

“You’re something else, kid,” He says fondly, pulling her into a hug as best as he can without unbuckling his seatbelt. “If this shit with your old man hits the fucking fan, there’s always a nice, warm spot on my bedroom floor for ya.”

He can almost hear her roll her eyes, and then she pulls away from him, eyes like daggers as they bore into his “If you take any of my fucking records, I’ll know- don’t think I fucking won’t cause I counted them, so I’m expecting _exactly_  seventeen LPs and eleven 45s when I come back for my shit.”

“Quit your yappin’ and skee-daddle, cowgirl.” He teases.

She’s about to do just that, already with her hand on the handle of the car door, when she turns to get her last word in.

“Tell Rick he can keep my books,” she says, and then she’s hopping out, slamming the door behind her before Negan can even get half a word out.

He smiles to himself, calm and deep as he pulls out of the Greene’s driveway. When he turns on the radio, 'Seasons in the Sun' by Terry Jacks is playing.

He cries when it ends, but they’re all happy tears, each and every one of them.

_Goodbye to you my trusted friend._

_We've known each other since we were nine or ten._ _  
_

_Together we've climbed hills and trees, learned of love and ABC's,_ _skinned our hearts and skinned our knees._ _  
_

_Goodbye my friend it's hard to die when all the birds are singing in the sky._ _  
_

_Now that spring is in the air, pretty girls are everywhere._ _  
_

_Think of me and I'll be there._

-

Negan walks into the apartment, eyes wet and nose sniffling, not expecting to see Rick sitting in the red vinyl couch in the living room, studying his flashcards for whatever the fuck class. It’s still fairly early on in the day, way too early for the band practice to have gone well, so Rick is just as surprised to see Negan- and even more surprised to see his face stained with tears.

Negan wipes his eyes quickly against his sleeves, though the leather does jack shit in this case.

“Uh, hey babe,” he says, much too casual and sniffy as he tries to dismiss the baby blue balls of concern that study him so worriedly, “You doin’ your flashcard shit? Need me to quiz you?”

Rick’s look does not budge. “No, I’m fine.” He answers, setting the index cards onto the coffee table. He sits up straighter, trying to get an even closer look at Negan, “Have you been crying?”

The look on his face somehow manages to evolve into something much more troubled, and Negan almost feels like an asshole for making those blue eyes look that way.

“And where’s Beth?” He presses on, only worrying himself more, “Did something happen at practice?”

Negan makes his way over to the couch, nearly throwing himself down on it as he sits next to Rick, the vinyl material letting out an awful, yet almost comical groan.

“Beth’s at her Dad’s. She’s not staying here anymore.” He explains with a sigh, going to bury his head in Rick’s lap, his long legs coming up to lay on the rest of the vacant, red expanse that the couch provides.

_“What?”_

“That’s what I said!” His words are muffled as his cheek lay smooshed against the denim of the boy’s dark jeans.

Rick’s hand finds its way into Negan’s hair, combing through the dark strands with his fingers, his short nails occasionally scratching against his scalp.

Negan lets out a long, throaty moan it feels so good, his eyes fluttering with tranquility, and his heart fluttering for other reasons.

Rick’s legs squirm just a little, and Negan smirks to himself.

 _"But_ _why?_ What happened?”

Negan fills him in on every event of their short practice, from the Zeppelin, to Beth’s vocal damage, to the fight, and to Beth’s shocking announcement.

“They were _fucking?!"_ Rick gasps, looking every bit as shell shocked as Negan felt upon finding out.

“They were _fucking."_ He confirms.

“And he kicked her out? I didn’t know Daryl could be such an ass.”

“Poor little dude is only a year younger than you,” Negan says, “He was probably fucking scared. Beth can be scary.”

“ _Love_ can be scary.”

“That too,” Negan agrees.

After a while, Rick asks, gently, “Is that why you were crying? Because Beth’s leaving?”

Negan nuzzles his thigh, sighs deeply, “Yeah, she’s one of my best friends, and I worry about her.” he admits tentatively, “and then this sad ass motherfuckin’ song started playing on the radio, that one hit wonder by Terry Jacks, and then cue the fuckin’ waterworks.”

“But I was happy,” he continues, “I’ve never had a friend like Beth. She really helped me, y’kno? They were happy tears.”

Rick understands, Negan can tell by the small smile that has blossomed onto his face, light and even, like the tinge of pink painted across his cheeks as he looks down at the man whose head lay in his lap. “So you’re okay?” He asks finally.

Negan nods, “I’m _fan-fucking-tastic_ , baby.” Then he asks, “And you? You still thinking about that cop?”

“I always will, but not like how you think,” Rick says, “I had a talk with Glenn.” He tells Negan about his visit with his buddy, but mostly just about Glenn’s project, and how his face is going to be a big part of it. Negan is giddy with joy and infatuation at the news.

“So you’re a fuckin’ muse now, huh?” He teases, a deep smirk settled thick on his face, “Like some supermodel, Edie Sedgwick, Andy Warhol superstar, paint-me-like-one-of-your-French-girls typa shit?”

“Fuck, I can’t wait to see that beautiful face of yours documented forever in one single moment in time- and by _Glenny?_ Ho-ly mother of shit, God bless that sweet little motherfucker.” He punctuates his words by nuzzling his face further into Rick’s lap, planting loud kisses against his jean clad thighs that he can probably hear more than he can feel.

Rick giggles, “Do you ever think before you speak, or do you just always talk right out of your ass?”

Negan ignores the question and brings up a subject that -to him at least- is much more moving.

“Now that Beth is gone we can finally, y’know, suck, sit, spin, blow, lick, fuck, bang, and bone,” he waggles his eyebrows suggestively, “All that great stuff is waiting for us with arms and _legs_ open wiiide. ”

Rick cackles, bends down to catch his lips in a quick kiss, “Yeah, I’m gonna take that as a ‘No, you don’t.’” He grabs his flashcards off of the coffee table, puts them in Negan’s hands. “Now quiz me.”

Negan huffs indignantly, before a bulb goes off in his head, and he looks up at Rick with a goofy grin. “Kiss me again and I’ll do it.” It's menacing blackmail, is what it is.

But Rick kisses him again… and again after that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!! I appreciate all of your amazingly kind words, and as always, constructive criticism is more than welcome. :)  
> <33333333


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs mentioned in this chapter include:  
> 'Something' by The Beatles  
> 'I Want You (She's So Heavy)' by The Beatles  
> 'Portrait of Tracy' by Jaco Pastorius

Finals come and go and take whatever they want from Rick: hours and minutes and seconds of sleep, and gallons of brain power as well as a little bit of his sanity.

Rick's alright enough with his scores. He knows he could've done better, that he should've spent a lot more nights at the library ruining his vision with the bright light of a computer screen than he did in Negan’s room, dry humping to The Beatles’ _Abbey Road_ while they sucked each other's souls out through their mouths, but Negan’s warm body and John Lennon’s wiry voice always lured him in so hypnotically. He’d fall into Negan’s too small bed, and lose sight of the world as his body and soul became tangled with bed sheets and long, firm legs. Once he’d find himself sunken into that place, which was nearly like another dimension, nothing could exist beyond it.

So he thought, so what if his GPA drops a couple points? It's just a number- a number that has the power to dictate his life, and rob him and his parents of their hard earned money, but Rick doesn't like to think about that for too long. Either way, the more he thinks about it, the less he cares. But then again, the more he thinks about how he _doesn’t_ care, the more frightened he becomes.

But now that the semester is over, he's as free as a bird for the next few months, save for his job at the library, but that’s something he really doesn’t mind.

This break is something his mind has been craving for so long that the only vague thought that's been running throughout his brain  for nearly a week is the constant rush of relief that blows in like the winds that breeze outside his bedroom window. There’s a part of him, however, that knows this feeling can’t last for long, whether it be replaced by something grander or something shittier- he just hopes it’s the former.

But today, as he wakes up to the bright, warm sun seeping slowly but surely through the thin skin of his eyelids, and coating his naked back, he sees Negan’s face so peaceful in his sleep, stubbly and tan and handsome; sees the dark whirls of his hair dancing against the soft color of the pillow underneath his head with such stark contrast; sees all the lovely lines and bends and curves of his body, and he thinks it can’t get any better than this.

He finds he doesn’t mind, not one bit.

He shuts his eyes, but doesn’t go back to sleep, just listens to the sounds of everything lying idle around him, from the gentle hum of the AC to the occasional chirp of a bird joining in the mix every once in awhile.

Until Negan stirs awake with a gravelly “Good morning” and a dopey grin that fades in with the rest of his lovely, slumber-soaken face, too unawake to articulate a greeting that carries his usual bite of lewd attitude.

They share a kiss that starts off chaste and sweet, embellished with wide smiles and light-carrying eyes, but as it turns from one to two and then three to four, losing count and losing track, they start to move together in waves of relentless heat, hands exploring the hard planes of lower backs and warm mouth pressed to warm mouth.

When Rick’s lips venture from Negan’s jaw to his neck, leaving marks with wet sucks and gentle nipping, Negan’s mouth moves close to his ear and whispers, stiff and labored, exactly how Rick feels, “Put on _Abbey Road._ ” Which is code for ‘Let’s make out for like, fifty minutes.’

Rick obliges, reluctantly pulling himself away from Negan. He tries to ignore how huge of a fucking tent he’s pitching so he can get the record spinning as soon as possible and get back to business, but the burn of Negan’s eyes on him- on _certain parts_ of him- leaves his skin itching.

He puts the needle on the second line, hears the scratch and then the riff, and it fills his blood with a new mind as the gentle voice of George Harrison fills the room

_Something in the way she moves, attracts me like no other lover._

_Something in the way she woos me._

_I don’t want to leave her now._

_You know I believe and how._

“You’re so _fucking sexy_ _,_ baby.” Negan purrs as Rick slinks his way back into bed, gazing at the boy like he could devour him in half the blink of an eye. Rick soaks it all in, a devilish smirk consuming his face and seeping into his eyes. He goes to straddle Negan’s lap, hands resting on the older man’s bare stomach, their groins pressing together heavily. “Yeah?” He raises an eyebrow, eyes keeping careful watch for all the subtle nuances that shift through his skin as Rick digs his hips a little deeper, rocking against the hard length, only two thin layers of god forsaken cotton between them.

He feels how Negan’s cock gives a hard twitch, sees the lust that makes his eyes go hazy.

Then a pair of strong, eager hands are grabbing at his hips, urging them forwards in a desperate attempt to gather more friction. His voice is a gritty whine as he says, “You’re gonna drive me fucking insane, Rick. You’re gonna fucking kill me with your ass and your legs and your thighs and your dick and your perfect fucking face- _Fuck yeah,_ you're fucking sexy!”

“Well damn,” Rick laughs, bending over to give Negan a lingering kiss, pure tongue and heat, “Ditto.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Negan mutters, though he's grinning like he's just won the lottery.

Rick responds to that by laughing harder, stripping himself of his underwear as he does so, his hard, flushed cock springing free from its cotton spandex confines. He licks a stripe against the palm of his hand, about to give his dick a tug or ten, just to get himself wet, when Negan intervenes.

 _“HEYHEYHEY!”_ He just about cries out, demanding Rick's attention. When Rick looks up, Negan’s frantic look has dissolved into something much more cheeky, teeth biting tongue, and lips stretched into a cheesy smirk.

“C’mere,” he says smoothly, waggling his eyebrows as he sits up just enough so his head is resting against the headboard, body still flat on the bed. He pats his pecs invitingly, “Daddy's gotcha.”

Rick rolls his eyes, but still accepts the offer, a strong chill running up along his spine as he moves to straddle Negan’s chest, supporting his weight on his knees, cock only a short thrust away from being in the man’s mouth. A very suggestive invitation resides like their breath in the air.

“Well would ya’ look at that,” Negan drawls out, half smug half awed as his calloused hands grip at the base of his thighs, lovingly rubbing all the way up to his hips, where he lets his hands come to a rest as he eyes the way Rick’s cock hangs heavy and yearning, “That all for me?” He looks up at Rick in question, sees how the blue of his eyes is a thin ring of lust.

Rick gets a hand around his own cock and gives himself a few slow, lazy tugs, biting down hard on his bottom lip to keep his voice steady as he says with a nod, “All for you, _Daddy.”_

 _"Fucking shit that's hot."_ Negan chokes out a surprised laugh, eyes growing darker as he watches Rick stroke himself so close to his face, making his tongue lay restless in his mouth. He puts a yielding hand on Rick’s, bringing the boy’s actions to a stop as he locks eyes with him so deeply, shamelessly saying, “I want to blow you,” as plain as day, ever the simple man.

Rick’s gaze gains a lot more fire once the words hit the air, as well as a bit of nervousness. Now his mouth hangs open for another reason.

The farthest they’ve gone with each other is handies and dry humping in their underwear, and while he’s sure they’ve certainly entertained the thought in their heads from time to horny time, it’s never been an activity that’s unfolded itself upon them and their intimacy, unfortunately- until right fucking now.

And all Rick can do it stare at Negan with big ole fish eyes, mouth slightly agape with his hand on his throbbing dick. Vaguely he imagines the plush, wet heat of Negan’s mouth just swallowing him up, Negan's shameless tongue giving him sinful licks.  Negan who's someone with experience, someone who’s already made him feel so good time and time again.

He finds himself nodding his head maybe a little too eagerly, but who could blame him?

Negan gives him a look, a wordless look that’s eases any troubles that try to weave under Rick's skin, and then his hand is taking over, mimicking the way Rick had been stroking himself a minute ago, all slow and full, but this feeling was much more agonizing, much more passionate and patient.

He watches as Negan presses a gentle kiss to the tip of his dick, lips smearing the tiny bead of precome that’s dribbled from him, and he knows he won’t last long, not that he ever does… It’s been a while.

A small whimper sounds from his lips, and Negan looks up at him with what Rick can only describe as “bedroom eyes” before he licks a firm stripe along the underside of his cock, tracing the thick vein that lies there with the flat of his tongue before he truly gets his mouth around the head.

“Oh, _Negan._ ” He moans, head tipping back when he feels the intoxicating swirl of a tongue, his fingers moving to tangle in the man’s hair, keeping him close and under his hands. He can't help but tug at the dark locks, like the pleasure surging throughout his body calls for him to do so.

Negan’s got one hand on Rick’s ass, and one on the base of Rick’s cock, making up for whatever length his mouth can’t reach as his head starts bobbing up and down in his own made-up rhythm, a rhythm Rick finds himself getting completely lost in.

This was _not_ what he had initially planned for when he decided to take off his underwear, but boy is he also _not_ complaining. He had planned on getting Negan naked and figured maybe they’d rub their cocks together ‘til they both came, something they do more often than not when they both just wanna get their rocks off, since it saves a lot of time and energy, two things that they’re not used to having that this summer break has so graciously gifted them.

But Lord does it feel _fucking amazing._ Up until the moment Negan had kissed his dick, he had forgotten about the listless wonders of oral sex.

“I-I’m gonna come,” Rick warns sooner than later, voice broken and desperate, pulling harder on Negan’s hair as the heat that pools in the bottom of his belly expands and grows, pulling his muscles taut and short.

The words only act as motivation to Negan, who responds with a hum that resonates so hard and heavy into Rick, his head bobbing faster and deeper as he grabs his ass with both hands, eager to taste what the boy has to give.

He comes with a wrecked cry of Negan’s name, head thrown back in ecstasy and hips stuttering wildly as Negan swallows around him, sucking him clean as he rides out the waves of his high, eyes still shut tight while his lungs work for air.

He pulls away from Negan’s mouth once he becomes too sensitive, his cock pulsing hotly, colored a dark, spent red.

Negan basks in the sight of an irrevocably flushed, post-orgasm Rick, so rosy and pliable. “You taste like the seven motherfucking wonders of the world,” He mumbles honestly, earning a slow, bubbly giggle from Rick, as well as a lethargic kiss on the mouth that deepens in record time, tongues dragging and sucking so messily as the last song on the first side of _Abbey Road_ begins to play in a world of it's own, the track lying on the outside and looking in.

_I want you._

_I want you so bad, babe._

_I want you._

_I want you so bad_

_It’s driving me mad._

_It’s driving me mad._

Then Rick’s pulling away, shimmying his way back down to the man’s lap, resting between his legs.

“You don’t have to just because I did,” Negan declares, voice tight but awfully sincere when Rick strips him of his boxers and starts stroking his cock, his breath hot against his length in a way that is all too suggestive. “I’m perfectly fucking content with the standard handy jay, baby, I promise you.”

“I know you are,” Rick says easily, “But this is something I wanna try. If you want me to…?”

Negan looks into those unbelievably blue eyes that are glazed so lasciviously, despite the innocent expanse of his entire face. He sees the question that lies within them, sees the faintest bit of insecurity- a pure picture of near virginal youth. “Of course I fucking want you to,” he assures, “Fuck, if I could, I’d shout it from all the fucking rooftops the state of Texas has to fucking offer: ‘I want my sexy-as-fuck boyfriend Rick Grimes to suck my dick while I lay in my bed listening to Abbey Road.’”

Rick smirks, hand stilling, “Boyfriend, huh?”

Negan rolls his eyes, but there’s no doubting the tug in his chest, “Yes, you fucking doofus.”

Rick flashes him an awfully cheesy grin, one hundred percent self-satisfied, and then he’s going to town on Negan’s cock, zero hesitation and maybe a little too much teeth, but he gets that under check in no time.

He's a fast learner, it turns out, and all too enthusiastic. Every whimper, every moan or groan, every hitch of breath that Negan supplies, feeds the fervor that threatens to boil over in the pit of his stomach, makes his wrist work faster, twist harder, makes his tongue lick and his mouth suck in new, experimental ways.

“ _Fuck_ _,_ baby, you look- look so fucking gorgeous sucking my cock,” Rick looks up and sees how Negan's flushed chest heaves with large, uneven breaths, meets his eyes and sees the way his brows are furrowed in feeling, wrecked and writhing. Somehow he still manages to smirk, looking as smug as one can under the hand- and mouth- of another, “You beautiful motherfucker.”

Rick responds by sucking strongly on the head of his cock before he pulls off with a pop, moving down to Negan’s balls and taking one into his mouth, testing the waters while he keeps his hand steadily stroking his length.

Negan lets out an especially loud moan, sounding shocked, and Rick feels how he tenses up under his mouth, sees the way the lean muscles of his core are scrunched up. _“_ _Oh fuck, Rick!”_ He cries, hips squirming wildly, chasing the sensation, “I’m gonna come, baby.”

Rick keeps his hand pumping fast, despite the ache that grows in his forearm, moves his mouth to lick at the very base of his cock, feeling the way it throbs under his tongue. He keeps his eyes locked on the flushed face of his lover, bathes in every whimper and every cry, every stitch of his beautifully gone expression.

Then Negan’s orgasm sounds with a guttural cry, hips bucking beyond his control as hot spurts of come fall on his chest and belly, some of it dribbling down onto Rick’s slick hand.

Rick watches it all with an intense glare, thumb messing with the stickiness that lies on the swollen, aching head of his cock before taking it into his mouth, tongue curiously gathering the bitter taste before swallowing it down.

It's not as offputting as he had originally thought it to be. In fact, he finds that he kind of _really_ likes it.

When he looks up and sees the dark, lustful look that Negan is throwing at him, he smirks, hot and mischievous and lewd. He keeps their eyes locked as he crawls up his body, cleaning up the come that lay spattered on his lower belly and his sternum, tongue wicked and whirling across Negan’s post-orgasm skin.

Negan pulls his naked body flush against Rick’s, moves their mouths together in a bruising kiss, sharing the way the both of them taste all mingled together.

“I can't feel my fucking legs,” Negan confesses once their kisses have dissolved into modest pecks.

Rick let's out a cackle, head thrown back slightly while Negan joins in with his own joyful chuckle, burying his face in the crook of Rick’s neck.

Rick feels so warm in his stomach and in his chest, and so peacefully loose all around. He knows part of it is due to the sex, but he knows another part of it is due to something much less physical.

-

Negan leaves for work only a few hours later in the early afternoon, after they’ve showered and eaten breakfast together, all that sappy, sexy, domestic shit. Rick doesn’t work today, so he does what he loves to do on his days off: sleep. But not before he does that other thing he loves to do, which is write.

He grabs his journal, grabs one of the many pens that lay around in his room. He writes whatever is in his head, doesn’t think, only does. When he feels finished, he reads it over- something he’d never do.

_For the third time, for the fourth time, for the fifth time._

_To lay like the earth, like soil and clay, like sullen ash, like molten decay._

_To lay like the fairest who awaits her one day; A blushing bride with her head between her hips._

_Reconsidering the mouths she’s touched, her character, and her pride._

_Thinking of all the times she’s shaken and quivered, of all the lies she dared to deliver_

_To her Mother, to her people, but most deeply, to herself._

_She sees the antidote, how it lay smug across the shelf,_

_Casual like your fleeting lover._

_Disguised as poison, existing sweet like syrup undercover._

_And over ahead, are the fearless dead who too craved a sip of something new._

_Poets and painters, dreamers and believers who held something that many laughed at,_

_Something that many blind men saw as mere commercial revenue._

Initially, he finds he has no fucking clue what the half of it means. It’s all so disarrayed, so rushed and unpolished. But, after a few re-reads, he discovers that these words are just a small part of him. They’re just fleeting thoughts, and closeted thoughts and subconscious thoughts, all warped onto a sheet of paper.

It’s not pretty, but it’s definitely not ugly- at least not when you really think about it, and all Rick does is think. But for right now, he decides to shut that part of his brain off.

He shuts his journal, places it back on his nightstand, pen alongside, and lays down onto his bed.

He shuffles around for a moment, tossing and turning as he throws a blanket over himself, his body seeking that ultimate comfort spot. When he finds it, finally he shuts his eyes, trying as hard as he can to think about absolutely nothing, so he can slip into unconsciousness for hopefully a couple of hours. .

Just when he feels that lulling, heavy weight that beckons him to sleep, something vibrates on his nightstand, emitting a harsh, incessant buzz. Rick figures he can let the call pass, and go back to trying to sleep, thinking maybe it was just one of those out of state numbers that randomly calls you for no reason.

When it rings a second time, only a few seconds after the first, he thinks _‘If it’s really important, then they’ll call me another time.',_ and shuts his eyes once more.

When it rings a third time, he finally moves, huffing out a sigh of detest, thinking, _‘I swear to God if it’s Negan I’ll-’,_ his thoughts are cut off quickly when he sees the call goes to voicemail, his lock screen displaying a tiny banner that reads _(_ _17) missed calls from Mom ._

He gawks at the screen in mild disbelief, temporarily paralyzed until it’s vibrating again, the contact picture he had assigned for his mother- a photo of himself and the woman, standing side by side, arms around each other’s shoulders in the typical mother-son pose- coming to gawk right back at him. The photo was taken just a little over a year ago on Easter, he assumes by the pastel colors that make up his Mother’s outfit, and he looks so different. Older, he thinks. Hairier, too.

He picks up on the last ring.

“H-Hello?” He answers, clearing his throat awkwardly. Suddenly, he’s filled with the irrational fear that his mother can tell he had sex less than an hour ago, just by hearing his voice. Mothers can do weird shit like that.

 _“Ricky!"_ she shrieks into his ear, making him flinch, “It’s about time, my son! You had me worried sick! Didn't I tell you to keep your phone nearby at all times? I've been callin' you for hours!”

Rick falls silent, suddenly overcome with massive amounts of guilt. He hasn't spoken to his mother since the beginning of the semester. He hadn’t meant to ignore her at first, he had even managed to text her from time to time, but then he met Negan and developed _feelings_ and that was a stressor all on its own, let alone combined with school and work. He had just forgotten, as bad as it sounds.

“Rick?” She calls, impatient, “Did you hang up on me?”

He shakes his head, her voice cutting clear through the thick smoke of his befuddled thoughts, “Sorry, I was- I was busy with … something.”

She sighs deeply, a mother’s sigh, frustrated but forgiving, unconditionally so, “I don't need to know about it, son.”

“Okay.”

There's a brief silence, and then she sighs again, “So are you gonna come visit your poor old mother, or are you gonna stay holed up in that apartment of yours until the Texas sun starts peelin’ at your skin?”

“I don't know… I have work,” he says lamely, body tensing as their conversation broadens.

She tsks, “And you can't ask for a few days off? Where do you even work, Ricky?”

He stutters under her intimidating tone, “I- uh- work…. the librar-”

“I don't even know where you live anymore, Ricky! I had to find out through Louie that you found a new place! Where are you living? Who's your roommate? Do you even _have_ a roommate? God, I don't even know what my own son is doing… What kind of mother does that make me?”

“Mom, you're a great mother,” he exhales heavily, hand coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose, “It’s just- I’m just a bad son.”

“No you're not,” she says after a while. Rick thinks it sounds like she's trying to convince herself more than him. “You’ve just had a lot on your plate.”

“Yeah…”

“Are you okay, Ricky?” She questions. Rick can almost see the way her brows knit together in concern, the way the wrinkle in the middle of her forehead deepens so dramatically. He’d seen it nearly everyday for eighteen years. “You sound… distant.”

“I'm fine, mom,” he says, but he sounds everything but, even to himself, “You just surprised me.”

“You don't sound fine,” her voice is poking and detective-like. Then, as if she’s hit the mark right on its head on, she says, “You’re not still hung up on Lori are you?”

He grimaces, “What?? _No!”_ Damn, it really has been _that_ long since he's talked to his mom. Or maybe it's just that a lot has happened. Or both.

“No??” She inquires, like the possibility baffles her, “Does that mean you're seein’ someone else?” There's a mischievous lilt that colors her question.

He gulps, eyes widening.

 _Fuck._ He can't lie, he's the shittiest liar to ever live.

But God damn him if he isn't going to at least try. “No, it’s just- I'm just over her. I'm not seeing anyone… at all.”

All hopes that he’d sounded even mildly convincing are shot down when a large cackles sounds from the receiving end of the phone. “Oh, Ricky, there’s no way-” An even larger cackle. “I know there’s no way on God’s green earth that you got over Lori without meeting someone else- I raised you for heaven’s sake! Are you tryin' to insult me, son?”

After she’s been deduced to soft, erratic chuckles, she asks, still so confident in her suspicions, “So who is the lovely young lady?”

“Mom, there is no… lady.” It’s the truth, too.

When a silence falls between the, he briefly wonders if she’ll be able to read between the lines.

Then she speaks up, much more frustrated than before, “I just don’t understand why my little boy is tryin’ to keep secrets from me! What did I do, Rick, are you embarrassed of me? Is that it? You don’t want to bring your girlfriend home to meet your Father and I? Ricky, you can tell me sweetie!”

“Mom, that’s not it, it’s just…”

“... Well what is it then?”

 _I have a boyfriend,_ he wants to say, but it lays dormant on the tip of his weary tongue.

“I- I gotta go, Mom,” he says lamely after a beat, “I have... work. At the library.” That’s a lie, but she doesn’t know that.

He’s just about to hang up when his mom calls out a buzzing, “Wait! Rick!” and he puts the phone back to his ear.

“Yes?”

She sighs yet again. Rick has no doubt he’s the cause for much of her stress, and that thought strikes him full of yet another pound of guilt. “I just want to see my boy.” she finally says, so earnestly.

Rick frowns, and softly says, “I know, mom.”

-

“My mom called me today.” Rick says to Negan a few hours after he’s returned from the shop. It's midnight, and they're lying on the red vinyl couch in the living room, watching some documentary about the greatest bass player who ever lived, apparently. He's pretty good, but Rick can't bring himself to pay attention. He's still so caught up in the conversation he had with his mom earlier.

Negan’s got his guitar in his hands, that same small bodied Gibson he had played for Rick on his first night here (it's his favorite guitar, Rick had learned), plucking out a few rhythms, and a few lone chords here and there, his legs lying freely in Rick's lap.

He had meant to tell him as soon as he had come home, but his nerves had done too great of a job at wholly consuming him.

And then Negan suggested they watch a movie, and Rick _really_ didn't want to kill his mood, especially not after he listened to him talk about _Portrait of Tracy,_ all sparkly eyes and excited teeth  & tongue fumbling over words, for nearly ten minutes.

So his thoughts sat in his brain, fizzing up fast like a science fair volcano, until they finally spewed out of him right in the middle of the movie, no longer able to be contained.

“Did she now?” Negan says, a flash of confusion lighting his face before being replaced with a teasing smirk, “She mailing you a fresh, new pack of tightie whities? With your name sewn in the back and all that good shit?”

Rick chuckles lightly, momentarily distracted, vaguely wondering if making him laugh was Negan’s intent. A part of him thinks it was. There's no way he couldn't have noticed how tense Rick had been the entire evening.

Rick’s smile fades when he begins to speak, “I didn't tell her about you.”

“What do you mean?”

“She asked if I was seeing someone, like a girl, and I said no because you’re not a girl and now she thinks I’m lying to her but technically I’m not because I’m with you, but then I _am_ lying because I _am_ seeing someone but-”

“Rick, baby, _slow down._ ” Negan urges, setting his guitar off to the side, giving him his undivided attention, “You don’t have to tell your Mom about us if you don’t want to, okay? You don’t have to tell anyone. Not until you think you’re ready.”

Rick can see the small patches of disappointment that peek through all the warm colors of eyes, can see how he tries to conceal it all for Rick’s sake.

He feels his burden lay heavier in his stomach

“Okay,” he says, barely nodding his head.

Negan offers a small smile, and then turns his head back to the TV, “Now open your fucking ears and pay attention, you big ole worry wart… Jaco’s about to predict his _own fucking death!_ ”

-

That night, while he lies wide awake in Negan’s bed- the other man fast asleep, his arm lazily draped around Rick’s middle; an affectionate deadweight- he stares at his phone and how it rests so tauntingly on the very edge of the nightstand, highlighted by the moonlight that bounces off its clean metal body.

He carefully removes Negan’s arm from his body and gets out of bed, grabbing his phone before he walks over to the small bathroom of their apartment, locking himself in there.

He sets his phone on the sink counter, eyeing it with a new found resentment, until he realizes that will do nothing to relieve him of his worries.

He has just has to _do it._ No thinking, just _doing._

So he calls up his Mother, giving himself not a second to spare in reconsideration.

“Rick?” Comes her voice through the line, creaky and tired and all too concerned, “It’s three in the morning, son, is everything alri-”

“Mom, I have a boyfriend.” He says, not realizing he had been trembling until the words are out of his mouth.

He looks at his quaking hands, and laughs a little bit. It comes out sounding more like a sob, or like he’s choking or something, but it’s honest in it’s roots.

He may be shaking, may be going a little bit insane waiting for his mother to just _say something_ \- but he _said it_ , and that may be the biggest victory he’s ever scored to date.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading and for all your very sweet and very kind comments, I really appreciate it all. :)  
> As always, constructive criticism is more than welcome! <333


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am SO sorry for the long ass wait, especially after that cliffhanger. I had to post this chapter using my phone, so I'm sorry if there's like a crazy amount of typos or like weird format or somethin. Anyways, thank u all for reading! 
> 
> Songs mentioned in this chapter include:  
> 'Turn The Page' by Bob Seger

A sigh.

“Ricky, is this some kind of joke? Are you… sleepwalkin’ or somethin’?”

“ _No_ , mom, no,” he urges, “I- I really do have a boyfriend.” There’s an air of silence, so Rick continues, desperate to cut through the tension, “His name is Negan and he’s- he’s… great, mom… He’s everything I never knew I needed.” He leaves out that he’s also living with him, because if she found out that bit of information, she’d take the long and winding road down to Austin and beat his ass.

When she speaks again, it’s much softer, laced with what he suspects to be a smile, “Is he really?”

Rick chuckles, feels the way his cheeks are tight with a sheepish grin, “Yeah, he is.”

“Is he cute?”

“God yes… Very cute.”

A beat, and then she says, “I want to meet him.”

Rick nearly chokes on his own spit, “Huh- What?!”

“You heard me, son. Don’t make me repeat myself.”

“I won’t but, Mom, we haven’t been together that long, not even two months- and what about Dad? Dad doesn’t even know.”

She laughs so casually, meanwhile Rick feels his guts imploding, “So, I’ll tell him. Ricky, there ain’t much to it.”

He takes a breath, then says, “I should be the one to tell him.”

She guffaws, “Well if I wake him up right now, he’ll give you two earfuls and a foot up the ass, but if you truly insist, then I will, just don’t say I didn’t warn ya’.”

“No no no,” he says, shaking his head, “I should be the one to tell him in person.”

“Oh Ricky,” there’s that mother’s sigh, “Are you trying to kill your poor old, Republican father?”  
-

When Rick leaves the restroom, Negan’s standing right outside the door, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his bare chest, an amused and sleepy smirk painted so effortlessly on his face.

Rick stands there momentarily frozen, fearing Negan has been listening in the whole time, hearing Rick gush about him to his own Mother like the mama’s boy Negan has always claimed him to be.

“My mom wants to meet you.” Rick decides to say after a long stretch of silence.

Negan's smirk blossoms into a hearty grin, pearly white teeth on display.  
-

A few weeks later they find themselves in Negan’s van, bags packed light and thrown in the backseat, heading down the I-35.

“Six fuckin’ hours on the goddamn road, just you and me, babe… and a whole fuckin’ world of possibilities.” Negan flashes a wink at him, looking awfully giddy for someone who has to dodge traffic at 8am in a big clunker of a vehicle.

Rick rolls his eyes, a smile strewn across his face, the early morning sun blinding his eyes as he humors Negan with a simple, “Yup.”

“Y’kno what they say…” Negan starts.

“No, what do they say?” There’s a twinkle in Rick's eye.

Negan's got his sights on the road, but his smirk is heavy and cheeky- Rick can tell by just looking at the side of his face- as he sings out, country accent and all, _“Life is a highwaaay! I wanna ride you aalll night looong!”_

Rick snorts, actually snorts, and says, voice still tainted with giggles, “I’m pretty sure no one says that… and Thank God you’re a guitar player cuz that was just plain horrible.” He reaches out to turn up the radio, it’s on the same local oldies station that Negan always has it on.

“Yeah, you better thank God I got these magic fucking fingers, baby,” he wiggles his fingers in Rick’s face for emphasis. Rick swats them away, laughing harder.

“These puppies will be of great fucking use in the future… for many reasons, if you can catch my damn drift.”

“ _Please_ shut up, Negan," he groans, but no one can deny the way his cheeks have flushed a deep shade of red, or how he tries but fails to mask a smile, “Is this whole trip just gonna be you talkin’ shit straight outta your ass?”

“Honestly, what the fuck else did you think it was gonna be, babe?” Rick has no argument to that. “Think of it as time for us to bond.”

“We live together, ain’t that enough bonding time?”

“Aw, cupcake!!” Negan coos, practically squealing, trying his absolute best to get on Rick’s nerves, “Don’t be silly! I could never get enough of you! Not with that precious face you’re sportin’... Or that beautiful ass… Or those big blue eyes… Or that gorgeous cock-”

“I get it, alright? Please _hush_.”

“You got it, cupcake,” He smirks.

“Please don’t call me cupcake,” Rick pleads as he grabs a book he’d left in the glovebox, cracks it open to the page he dog eared, “Especially not in front of my parents.”

Negan scoffs, “What do you want me to call you something super fuckin’ hetero? Like bro, or dude?”

“That’d be nice,” Rick says sarcastically, voice flat as he averts all his attention to the words that lay tiny and black against the cream colored pages. They shift and tremble with the rocking of the wheels on the road.

There’s an amused laugh, and a cheeky, “Fuck off.” When there’s no flirtatious banter thrown back, Negan turns his head to gaze at the boy at his side, just for a split second, sees the cars that hiss by through the window behind his head, sees how his neck is craned downwards, eyes flitting side to side as he reads the book in his lap.

“I can’t believe I fucking lost you to a paperback copy of _Lolita_ ,” he mumbles in vain. Rick doesn’t hear him, he’s stuck too deep in a sticky trance.

Negan turns up the radio when he hears the saxophone intro to a Bob Seger tune. Rick still doesn’t budge. Negan laughs by himself everytime Rick involuntarily turns the page every time Bob sings, “There I go, turn the page.” the dramatic, loud tone of his belting all too funny against the calm, nearly idle state of the boy whose mind is someplace else.

-

As the hours dwindle down, and they inch closer and closer to their location, Negan’s nerves start building, slowly but surely, until he’s all wrought up and nearly on the edge.

He’s in the middle of mentally debating the best and worst case scenarios of meeting Rick’s parents when a Prius cuts in front of him, sending his foot crashing down on the brake, the van jerking forward in response.

 _"Cocksucking motherfucker!"_  He shouts out, a shrieking honk accompanying his words as he punches the steering wheel with one hand, and flips the other driver- who most likely can’t even see him- off with the other.

Rick, who had been sleeping, startles awake at the commotion. “What’s goin’ on?” He drawls out, brow furrowed tight as he attempts to blink away the sleep from his eyes.

“Sorry,” he says, huffing out a lungful of tense air. Then he says, words going from soft to harsh, “Some fucker cut me off!”

Rick gives him a lazy smile, “I think we’ll be fine.” His voice is thick with sleep, falling sweet from his pink lips like sap from the trunk of a peaceful tree.

Negan feels some of his agitation roll off of him at the sound of Rick’s voice. Still all of his nerves remain, just less harmful, and more fear inducing.

“What if this shit with your Dad goes down the fucking hole? What do we do then?”

A pat of exhaustion makes the content look on Rick’s face falter, and Negan nearly regrets bringing it up, but he just has to know what in the exact fuck is going on in Rick’s head.

“If something goes bad then… then it goes bad.”

“And we just come right back to fuckin’ Austin? Just 'Hi Dad, here’s my hot boyfriend.' 'Fuck you, son. I voted Trump.' 'Kay, love ya, Pops, I’m outtie.' and then another six damn hours on the road?”

Rick ignores Negan’s nervous antics, dusts off the potential anxiety that beg to lay in his brain as best he can, “I didn’t come to just visit my parents. There’s other people we can stay with if this goes to shit… _If_.”

Negan nods, Rick sees how he moves with more lax, “Yeah. If.”

When they’re off the interstate, and on the boring, one-stretch, country backroads, Negan rests a hand on Rick’s thigh just above his knee, where his old and raggedy jeans split in a distressed tear.

Rick soaks in the sight silently, smiling warmly before he lays his own hand over Negan’s. A warmth flutters through his stomach.

-  
When they arrive at Rick’s childhood home, it’s mid afternoon, and the South Texas sun beats down on their backs with too much intensity for the Spring. The sweat that lay thick on their brows however, is not as much due to the heat as it is their anticipation.

The town is quiet, as a town with a population of only two thousand people would be, but to Rick, today the peace seems all too deafening.

Everything’s the same, Rick thinks. He sees all the houses lined up, modestly spaced. All the half-dead, heat suffering grass is scattering people's lawns as it always has, alongside the dry, stone-like earth that move like dust on the rare occasion a cool breeze blow from what always seemed like heaven’s direction.

He sees the house on the corner painted a pale pink, weathered from all the sun rays and rain fall it has lived to see- and he smiles, feeling like this town has the power to make the earth stand still. Should anything go wrong, that pink house would always accept them.

“Should I knock or do you need a minute?” Negan asks after they’ve spent a minute just staring at the door and all its intimidation.

Rick takes a deep breath, tearing himself away from his thoughts. The bag he's carrying over his shoulder suddenly grows heavier. He looks up at Negan with the sun in his eyes, “You can knock.”

Negan nods, looking at Rick with the same sun-blinded grimace, plants a quick, reassuring peck on his lips. Then he’s knocking, three quick and loud raps.

Almost immediately, the door swings open, and they’re met with the sight of Rick’s parents, all fine lines and salt and pepper hair and honest smiles.

Rick’s mother consumes her son in a tight and lingering hug, and when she pulls away to take in her son’s form, almost immediately her grin is dismantled, replaced with a look of horror.

“ _Oh my God, Ricky, are you alright?!_ ” Her hands pat at his sides, feeling for God knows what might give her an answer. “Have you been in a fight??”

Negan and Rick shoot each other a look of shared confusion, but then Rick looks down at what he’s wearing- Negan’s eight year old Nirvana t-shirt, distressed to near shreds, the original black color faded into an odd greenish blue gray, and his favorite pair of black Levi’s that have taken their own fair share of a beating, holes boring at the knees and the hems frayed from being just a little bit too long and dragging along cement sidewalks far too many times.

“Diane, hon, I think that may just be the style today,” Rick’s father explains insightfully, though he too looks taken aback by his son’s outfit.

“Style?” His mother questions, relieved that her son hasn’t been mauled, but still awfully perplexed, “Oh good God…”

“Well.. I dig it, son,” His father tries, “I think it’s _groovy_ and _tight_.”

Rick cringes, Negan stifles a laugh.

“You gonna introduce us to your friend, Rick?” His father questions when his mother has Negan pulled into the same all consuming hug she had given her son, a warm smile on her face as she tells him something that Rick can't quite hear, but he sees the way Negan smirks so amusedly, a near innocent flush coloring the apples of his cheeks. Rick thinks his father’s voice sounds a little funky, almost rehearsed.

They four of them walk into the house. Negan wordlessly grabs his hand, Rick sees the way his father’s eyes follow the gesture, how something like amusement twinkles within his eyes. Rick is no less than confused, and maybe a little shocked.

“Dad, this is Negan- my boyfriend.” It still feels great to say that.

“I know,” comes his father's response, almost immediately, accompanied by an unbridled grin as he shoots Rick’s mother- who’s looking awful guilty- a good humored look, “Your mother is terrible at keeping secrets, son.”

“Oh Lord, I really am,” she nods, apologetically, “I’m so sorry, Ricky, I just couldn't keep it to myself! Told him as soon as I hung up the phone.”

Rick laughs in disbelief. So that’s it, huh?

Sure he had wanted to take initiative on this, wanted to do things on his own terms, but right now he's greatful for his meddling mother, and his presumably accepting father.

“So Negan, son,” his father begins, and Negan turns his head with anxious ears, “make yourself at home. Anything you need just holler.”

Negan grins, looking just as moved as Rick, just as relieved, “Thank you- thank both of you so fu- so much, sir.”

“Hey, kiddo, you can call me Rob,” he laughs, giving Negan a firm, paternal pat on the back.

Once they’ve been dismissed to Rick’s room to get settled, they head up the stairs, taking two at a time, bodies full of adrenaline.

“Ricky!” His mother calls, to which Rick responds with a winded Yes?, still racing to the top of the stairs with Negan, “I hope you don’t mind, but we moved the old record player into your room. It was lookin’ too shabby in the livin’ room.”

Negan and Rick shoot each other a look of the same mind.

No, that won’t be a problem at all.

-

Rick’s room is a picture of his high school years, drab and polished, even moreso without his constant presence to scramble it up.

It’s four walls painted a dull blue, with assortments of certificates and awards (Rick Grimes was a trackstar- who the fuck knew? He also never missed a day of high school, go figure) lying flat against the color, hung meticulously with mounting putty.

It’s a classy wooden desk with pictures in picture frames resting on top, dusty and seldom viewed: one of Rick’s senior portraits, one of Rick dressed in a cap and gown, parents at his sides, on a lush green football field, diploma in hand, and one of Rick in a suit and a girl (Negan’s willing to guess that she’s Lori) in a prom dress who looks to be the prim and proper epitome of a southern belle. (Together, they’re the picture of stock photo perfection, all too stiff and mannequin like with their plastered smiles and their beady eyes.)

It’s a matching dresser full of your usual shit like underwear and socks, and also some more fucking black Levi’s and god damn t-shirts. This time though, the t-shirts aren’t branded with the usual University of Texas theme, but with the name of his high school and the icon of his high school’s mascot.

Negan chuckles. Guess there’s no time for style (or individuality) when you’re busy being the trophy child and student.

Now though, there’s a large and tangible entity that is the righteous, vintage stereo system- and the records that accompany it- lying lovely in the corner, that serves to emit something special into the clinical, squeaky clean atmosphere of the room. That must be a metaphor for something.

Negan’s in the middle of rummaging through the case stock full of vinyl when a voice sounds from behind him.  
“It’s so nice to open a fridge and see it stocked full of things that aren’t beer or tofu.” He turns to see Rick leaning against the door frame, fully encompassed in a tub of cookies and cream ice cream, spoon in hand, digging for gold.

“What more could you need?” Negan comments offhand.

He raises an eyebrow, lets out a sarcastic “ _Hahaha_ ,” and shovels another spoonful of ice cream into his mouth. Negan watches the movement carefully, eyes studying the flick of his tongue across his lips, the way his throat bobs when he swallows, the way a little bit of it falls on his stubbly chin when he misses his mouth. He thinks about licking it off, just when Rick wipes it away with the back of his hand.

“Wow,” Rick says with his mouth full, pulling him out of his lewd thoughts, though not entirely, “My room looks… bland.”

“Yeah, well I think _you_ look sexy as hell.”

"Real smooth." Rick rolls his eyes fondly. “I mean it,” he continues, even when Negan’s got the door shut behind them, the ice cream set down on the desk, and Rick lying on the bed underneath him. “It’s like I’m staying at the damn hospital.”

“Am I really that lame?” He asks, though he answers himself, “Of course I am, I never missed a day of high school, for Christ’s sake.”

“Is this really bothering you, baby?” He questions, pulling himself away just enough to look at the boy’s face.

Rick blushes underneath him, nearly whining when he says, “Well… yeah!”

“Okay, hold on,” Negan says, sitting up just a little straighter- ignoring the near sinful friction his movement induces as he sticks his hand in his jacket pocket.  
Rick watches in confusion as he pulls out a half full pack of hubba bubba gum (the watermelon variety) and pops out a piece, shoving it into his mouth and chewing on it vigorously as he continues to sit idly in his lap.

“What are you-”

“Gimme a second, these motherfuckers are hard to chew at first,” He says, speech distorted around the thick, sugary gum.

A second goes by, and Rick watches as he pulls the goop out of his mouth, leans over his body, and sticks it smack dab on the dull blue wall, birthing an odd blemish.  
“There,” he says, wearing a self-satisfied smirk, “It’s a good fuckin’ start, I’d say.”

Rick’s smiling from ear to ear, moving his hands to rest on Negan’s sides. He feels a laugh begin to wrack at his chest. He moves to pull him into a kiss, but then he hears the familiar clink of his mother’s heels against the hardwood floor, inching dangerously closer and closer, and he’s instead overcome with a childlike panic.

He gasps, pushes Negan off of him and onto the ground, and hurries to grab the ice cream off the desk, playing casual as he sits up a little too straight, eats a little too eagerly.  
Then the door is opening, revealing none other than his Mother.

“Ricky, Abby called, she- Why on earth is Negan on the floor?”

“I was just- uh, looking at the records,” Negan tries, though he’s about a few feet too far from the vinyl for his excuse to be deemed plausible, and his appearance a bit too ruffled.

He feels his mother’s studious gaze move back and forth between the two before she says, “Negan, you’ll be sleepin’ in the guestroom,” adding a stern “No buts about it!” whenever Negan opens his mouth to protest.

She turns to Rick and says, “This door is to be open at all time when he’s in here, do I make myself clear.”

Rick nods, tries to force the flush of embarrassment that heats up his skin to vanish.

“And just what is that lil’ doohickey on the wall, Rick?”

Rick’s eyes widen, “Uh..that was there when- uh, when we got here.”

She cocks her head to the side, “But that looks fresh-”

Rick tries for a cheap save, “What were you sayin’? Abby called?”

It works. “Oh, yes! Abby called, said she’d love to see you and meet your lil’ lover, so you better get to walkin’. Be back by dinner time.”

“Who’s Abby?” Negan asks when Rick’s mother has left.

Rick smiles brightly, “She’s our neighbor. You’ll love her.”

Negan takes his word for it, and they head out, heeding Rick’s mother’s call and walking down the empty streets. As Negan follows Rick aimlessly, it seems, he asks, “Where does this Abby live?”

“In that pink house around the corner. Can’t miss it.”

“That darlin’ picture of a house? I was eyeing that motherfucker the moment we drove into your neighborhood. That’s badass.”

“It’s even cooler inside,” Rick says, and Negan notices how his eyes glimmer with something so very childlike, nearly nostalgic. It’s sweet, he thinks, and awfully intimate in it’s own way.

When they get to the doorstep of the house, Rick doesn’t knock, just turns the knob and walks in. Negan gives him a questioning look to which Rick responds with, “Abby says it’s a sin for a loved one to knock… Or something along those lines. It sounds a lot cooler in spanish.”

His explanation only serves to further mystify Negan, until his eyes finally see this Abby- who’s real name, it turns out, is actually not Abby, but Lupita, short for Guadalupe.

Abby is just short for Abuelita.

Abby is an old woman, with russet colored skin that wrinkles and dips about her high planed face. Her hair is gray, but still shiny and thick- pulled back like a horse's mane as it frames her round face. 

Much like her house, she is donned in vivid color, her clothes easily draping from her corpulent, maternal form in interesting fringes and frills, accessorized with gleaming turquoise and silver wherever her skin allows.

“Ay, _mijito angelito_!” She cries upon seeing Rick, fully engulfing him into a rib crushing hug. Negan watches as Rick sinks into her breast, fully amused. “You’ve grown so much, my child! In so little time! Don’t do that to me, _mijo_!” She says, her accent wrapping thickly around each word warmly, delivering them with so much character. She scrubs her fingers through the beard that perseveres on Rick’s face, “ _Mira, tus pelitos!_ ”

Rick laughs, “I’ve been trying to grow it out.”

“I like it,” she reassures, before she turns to meet Negan, “ _Es tu novio?_ ” The wildly giddy look on her face shows she knows the answer, but still when Rick nods, she looks like she might just combust with joy and excitement.

She lets out another cry of joy before she swallows Negan up in the same vice likes hug she had held Rick in. She pulls away slightly, moves her hands to cup Negan’s face, studying his features like he’s a bucket of gold and jewels.“Gorgeous young man!” She remarks, “Ay Ricky! You’ve got a good taste, you get that from me.”

“Of course I do, Abby,” Rick laughs.

Then suddenly, like a bell goes off in her head, Abby is pulling away from Negan and rushing to her kitchen.

Rick follows her, and Negan follows Rick, albeit reluctantly.

“Are you two hungry? Thirsty? Ah? _Tienes hambre?_ ”

“Don't fuss over us, Abby. My mom’s going to have dinner ready for us when we get home.” Rick says.

“Yeah, I’m fine, miss.” He tacks on.

Abby seems to almost contemplate their claims, but ultimately shrugs them off.  
“Say no more, speak no more. You two are a couple of growing boys, you need all the nutrients you can get.” She points a finger at Negan, a long fingernail painted a deep red. She speaks to him mock stern, “And you- you call me Abby, Abuela, or Lupita. No miss or mister here. Strictly informal.” A toothy smile punctuates her words.

Negan can't help but reciprocate. “Well, alrighty, Lupita.” He says, liking the ring of the name, “I think I’m in love with you already.” A loud belly-laugh sounds from her.

Rick and Negan drink sugary sweet jamaica that makes their teeth turn pink, and eat homemade cookies called wedding cookies that crumble against their lips, but melt like butter against the tongues.

“Where's Rosita?” Rick asks moments later, in the middle of a cookie, powdered sugar smattered around his mouth, some far astray on his nose.

Abby sighs, “Ay Rosita _chamaquita_ _malita_ … She’s in her room with the _rojito_ and the _negrita_ , doing Lord knows what.”

“She still givin’ you trouble?”

Abby nods, “If hell could live in a little girl, it would pick her and cuddle up right next to her big toe.”

Negan laughs. God, he's got to meet this Rosita.

“Still I love her, I love her like I loved her mother. They were exactly the same, you know. Damsels in distress.”  
Rick nods.

After a moment, Negan says, assuming Rosita is a teen, and correctly so, “Y’kno, when I was a teen, I put my parents through hell. We don't speak to this day, but I think I turned out alright.” His attempts to comfort the old woman are in vain.

“You have a job?” She asks.

“Part time musician, part time cashier at the best record store in the state of Texas.”

“ _Dios_ _mio_ ,” Abby groans, hanging her head in her hands, “Ricky, please go say hi to her. Maybe if you speak one peep, it’ll seep through her iron skull and she’ll go good, _si_ _dios_ _quieren."_

Rick complies, getting up from his seat at the kitchen table. Negan follows suit.

“Don't let tu _novio_ _musico_ say one word to her! He’ll only stir her even more.” She teasingly calls as they make their way upstairs. They both laugh in response.

It's a big house, but Rick knows his way around it almost like the back of his hand. “You and Lupita are pretty close, huh?” He pokes, trying to juice some info out of the boy.

Rick gives it easily, “My mom’s a teacher. She was always at the school and Dad was always at the station, so I was always here. Abby has been like my mother since as long as I could remember… For a long time I wished she was my mother.”

Negan hears all he says, but one thing sticks out to him the most, “Wait a second, Dad was always at the station?"

Rick nods, solemnly says, “My dad was a cop. He retired when I was thirteen."

Holy fuck, Negan thinks. That speaks volumes- on his naivety and on his assumptions. But Negan also can't help but hear the slight shame his tone carries.

When they get to Rosita’s room, Rick knocks on the door. No one answers, so Rick knocks again.

“ _Waitwaitwait_ -” Negan urges when he hears the faint thump of bass pattering against the wall, almost like it's laying above his head. “Do you fuckin’ hear that?”  
Rick goes silent, listens to the air.

When he hears it, his brow shoots up, and he looks up at the ceiling- but this time his eyes land on a wooden patch in the clean white expanse.  
“She's in the damn attic,” Rick mutters, before adding, “Give me a lift.”

“ _What_?!”

Rick gives him a look that says ‘You heard me.’, but explains anyways, “The cord has been broken for years. Now lift me!"

“I don't know if I'm in the shape to do that.”

“Just do it!” He yells before he's pushing Negan down on his knees.

“Fucking alright, _Nike_ ,” he says, readying himself for the weight of Rick’s body on his shoulders.

“ _What_ _the_ _fuck_?!” He cries when he feels a blocked heel dig into his skin, “Take off your motherfuckin’ boots, cowboy!”

“Oopsie daisy.”

Upon entering the attic, the strong skunky scent of marijuana was all in the air, so thick and warm it was nearly a sauna, accompanied by the source of the bass thumping that had led them here: loud rap music of today’s variety.

“Thanks for fucking pulling down the ladder! You're gonna stink up Abuelita's house!” Comes a voice that belongs to the infamous Rosita, who looks the image of your average teenage rebel- a lot like Beth, but much more toned down with a moodier pout and a dark eyed glare.

Negan watched as Rick crashed the smoke circle of three, strutting towards the group with the privilege and pride akin to an older brother with an upper hand. “Does Abby know you're hotboxing her attic?” He asks, smugly. He's wearing a smirk on his face, like he wants to smile but is holding back. Rosita is wearing the same look, but so are her friends, so Negan holds the weed accountable on her behalf.

Rosita ignores his question, instead asking, “You fuckin’ the fonz?” She nods her head towards Negan.

“The fonz…” He laughs, too loud for his own ears. Rosita is giving him a glare that's equal parts dumbfounded and annoyed. He doesn't think he's ever seen someone who's high look so bitter, “I don't hear that one enough. Usually get Danny Zuko or some shit.”

Rosita shakes her head, turns back to face Rick, awaiting his response.

“I don't know, you fuckin’ Sheamus?” He says, nodding towards the redhead dude by her side. The redhead coughs a cough that transitions into a wheeze. Negan can't help but notice how the dark skinned girl on the other side of Rosita all but squirms in her seat.

Interesting, he thinks, but none of his business.

“No, I’m not, _pinche_ _culero_ ,” she says bluntly, leaving the air thick with tension and although Negan has no clue what she just said, he can tell by the cutting curl in her tone that it wasn't very kind.

“Oh…” Rick says stiffly, knowing he's hit a soft spot, “Well yeah … I am fuckin’ the fonz.”

Rosita grabs the bong that stands by her foot, packs another bowl. After she rips a massive cloud, she says, “Well, Icky Ricky, can't say I’m not happy you got over that cheating, asskissing, dean’s list, rich bitch _gringa_ who only used you to complete her delusional ass _Better_ _Homes_ _and_ _Gardens_ fantasies, and I’m really proud you've come out to your parents and Abuela as whatever the fuck you are- but can you please get the fuck out of my face and take Alex Turner from the Arctic Monkeys with you.”

“Oh, get your head out of your fucking ass, Rosita,” Rick retorts, stomping down the ladder with his sock clad, bootless feet.

Rosita responds by flipping him off.

“... I prefer the fonz if I’m being fuckin’ honest.” Negan says in regards to Alex Turner remark when he's halfway down the ladder, only his head visible to the group of teens who still reside in the attic.

Rosita gives him a bored look, so he continues his trek down into the house.  
-

“That Rosita’s a bit of a bitch, huh?” Negan entertains when they're walking back home to Rick’s house, hand in hand.

Rick gives him a look that's nearly scolding, “Don't say that… She’s just… scared. Gets all hissy when she's scared. Always has.”

Negan scoffs, “Scared of fucking what? Man, she had a look in her eyes that would make fear piss it's fuckin' pants and cry for it's fuckin’ mama.”

“She just graduated high school. You know how scary that can be.”

Negan agrees, nodding his head. “She like your sister, or what?”

“If I called her my sister she'd snap my neck like a god damn twig. But still, yeah, I'd call her my sister.”

“If that ain’t as sweet as apple pie a la mode,” Negan says, in his infamous country accent, pinching Rick’s cheeks as he does.

“Shut up,” Rick laughs, playfully shoving Negan’s shoulder with his own.

When they get to doorstep of the Grimes’ household, Rick stops Negan before they enter.

“You ready for roast beef with a side of questions regarding why you're not in college or speaking to your parents?”

Negan laughs, squeezes his hand tighter, “I say bring it the fuck on.”

“You sure?” He continues, “Any second they push a button a little too hard, you just.. shoot me a look or somethin’.”

“No need to worry for me, baby.” He assures, leaning in to steal a quick kiss. “I’m a tough cookie to crack.”

Rick smiles, “Don't I know it.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys enjoyed the informal Spanish lesson and the introduction of Rosita's character lmao.  
> Thank u all so much for ready and for all ur kind comments! I appreciate it all so much. :) As always, constructive criticism is more than welcome!


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> songs mentioned in this chapter include:  
> 'Love' by John Lennon  
> 'Never Going Back Again' by Fleetwood Mac  
> 'Angel Baby' by Rosie & the Originals

Dinner goes as expected, if not a little bit better than Rick had originally anticipated.

He could tell by the look on his Dad’s face that he couldn't begin to understand why Negan would drop a full paid scholarship and move across the country to pursue what he called a pipe dream, but he didn't push. Didn't try to understand. He just let it be, even though Rick knew the concept made the scraggly little vein in his forehead worm out.

Same goes for Rick’s mother who was truly concerned and struck with discontent when she discovered Negan did not speak to his parents, and though Rick knew every inch of her meant well no matter what she could’ve said, he was glad she decided to let it go and mind her own business.

Things flowed easily, and with Negan by his side, charming his parents with stories of how he lived off of canned tomato soup for months in order to save up for a _“1952 hardtail, maple neck Fender Stratocaster in sunburst”_ , Rick felt more comfortable in his parent’s presence than he could ever remember himself being.

When he extracted himself from the scene, sat back in his chair and watched contently as Negan and his parents laughed and grinned so lightheartedly, he couldn’t help but feel that warm and all familiar tug in his chest.

Rick watched as Negan’s eyes crinkled when he smiled, watched as his nose scrunched up when he laughed so genuinely at one of his father’s terrible jokes, or how he grinned so wide and toothily whenever his mother told a story about Rick in his younger years, and about how he’s always been so quiet and soft yet firmly spoken like he is now.

 _I’m in love,_ he tells himself, no question about it- and at least for right now, it all seems so easy.

After they’re finished with their dinner, Rick goes up to his room with Negan and they listen to records, giving their full attention to the collection of vinyl that belongs to his mother. Or at least Negan does.

Rick on the other hand, finds himself lost in every single move Negan’s body makes, his brain foggy with adoration. No lust, no libido driven desire. Just a special type of awe stemming from the near incomprehensible thought that is _Wow, this beautiful man is really mine._

“Your mom’s got some good fuckin’ shit here,” Negan says as he flips through the given selection, Fleetwood Mac’s _Rumours_ already spinning on the turntable, a song hollering about never going back again filling the room, “She’s got some Carole King, some Roberta Flack. She’s got _Abbey Road_ , oh baby, I know you _love_ that one-” he pulls out a worn record with the word _Harvest_ splayed across the sleeve, an incredulous look on his face, “Well what do ya’ know, _Mr. I-don’t-fuckin’-know-who-Neil-Young-is_ had an original pressing in the same house as him this _whole damn time! ”_

When Rick remains silent, Negan says, “Rick Grimes, why aren’t you responding to any of my bullshit banter?” He looks up and sees the dreamy look pooled thick and blue in Rick's eyes, boring right into him. He smiles, looking near sheepish. “Why the hell are you looking at me like that?”

Rick shakes his head, “Just put on the damn record,” He says nodding towards the Neil Young album, still smiling like a fool.

-

After their listening party, they reluctantly parted ways- Rick staying in his own room and Negan residing in the guest room just one door down. They exchanged happy Good nights and shared long and short kisses in various degrees of sweetness and heat.

Rick doesn’t know what time it is when Negan sneaks back into his room, but he knows it’s late.

When he startles awake to the sound of someone shuffling around, struggling to get a record on the plate in the pitch black darkness, a hushed voice comes to him, saying, “It’s just me, don’t worry,” and he lets himself sigh out in relief.

Then John Lennon’s voice quietly sounds from the dusty old speakers, but it’s not _Abbey Road_ that’s playing. It’s something different, something much softer than The Beatles, but just as- if not more- raw.

Rick feels Negan crawl underneath the sheets beside him, warmth coming off his skin in waves, feeling burning hot against his as their legs tangle together in a familiar knot. Negan buries his face in Rick’s bare chest, and Rick can feel his jagged exhales as they breeze against him.

He’s uncharacteristically silent.

Rick pulls him in closer, tries to lighten the mood with casual teasing, “Couldn’t stand bein’ more than fifty feet away from me, huh?”

Negan’s silent for a moment longer, until he says, plainly, “I guess not.”

Rick doesn’t like the emptiness in his voice, he decides, as his brows knit together in concern. He tries to catch a look at the man in his arms, but is only able to see a head of dark hair.  “What’s wrong?” He asks gently.

Negan responds only with more silence, and a hitched breath against Rick’s chest.

When he feels wetness meet his skin, he pulls away, saying, “Hey, hey, what’s wrong?? Baby, you’re scaring me.”

“Hey, look at me,” he tries again, gentle and quiet, trying to use his voice to coax an answer out of him.  It works and Negan complies, looking up at Rick with tearstained eyes, face made visible only by the soft moonlight that seeps in sparsely through the sheer curtains that drape the windows. “What’s wrong?” He asks again, voice as quiet as the drop of a pin as he stares worriedly at Negan, who’s face twitches in pain as he seems to recall the cause of his pain.

“It's Lucille,” He croaks, then swallows thickly, “It’s been eight fucking years. I- I forgot about her- I forgot about her fucking death. I fucking forgot.” Rick watches at a loss for words as the tears stream down Negan's face fervently, feels helpless in how he can’t do much to console him. He can only hold him.

“She came to me in a dream,” he continues, after he’s gotten the first wave of tears out, “She- we were sitting under this big oak tree in her backyard and- and we were laughing about something, I don’t even know what…  but then she leans in and she whispers in my ear _‘I’m happy that you’re happy.’_ and then she’s just- she’s just _gone._ And I’m sitting under this tree in her backyard all by myself, and everything’s so green and happy and alive and it was like… like I was the only person on earth there to see it. I was just all by myself.”

Rick rests his sorrowful gaze on Negan, runs his fingers through his dark hair, hoping it’ll serve to soothe the man like it always does. “It’s okay,” He whispers, wishing there was something else he could say, something more.

Negan seems to relax more and more as the seconds tick on, as the music rocks the air gently into a lulling wave. Rick's nearly drifted back to sleep when Negan asks, “What was Lori like? You never talk about her.”

Rick doesn’t like talking about that part of his life, but he thinks for Negan’s sake, he’s willing to try. “She was a lot like me,” He begins slowly, “We had the same troubles, the same expectations forced on us... I think that’s why we were so drawn to each other. We thought we could make it out together, make everyone happy and keep ourselves happy too- and it was working for a while.”

“When she cheated on me with Shane- he was roomate before Daryl- I was angry for a long time. But then I met _you_ _,_ someone who seemed so forbidden but so… tempting, like- like Pandora’s box, kind of, and I realized that maybe that’s what Shane was for her. That box that opened up a whole new world with new possibilities… and fright and pain… but still happiness within it all.”

“And then I wasn’t angry anymore. I just understood. I _couldn’t_ be angry. In fact, now I’m kind of proud. She found the courage to accept the possibilities of a new life, one outside of all the lines that had been drawn for her, and that’s _scary._ Now I think I’m just jealous she found it before me.”

“Pandora’s box, huh?” Rick feels Negan smirk against his skin, “Damn, I guess I’m just _that_ fuckin’ mysterious.”

Rick grins, happy to see the man shift into a lighter mood. Negan grins back, just as bright even through his watery profile.

Rick feels it on his tongue, feels it knotting his muscles and weighing down on his joints in the same way Negan weighs down on his chest: _I love you._

But he doesn’t say it. Instead, John Lennon does it for him, in many words, as he croons a tender song that is no louder than the secret whispers shared between Negan and him.

_Love is real, real is love._

_Love is feeling, feeling love._

_Love is wanting to be loved._

_Love is touch, touch is love._

_Love is reaching, reaching love._

_Love is asking to be loved._

_Love is you, you and me._

_Love is knowing we can be._

_Love is free, free is love._

_Love is living, living love._

_Love is needing to be loved._

-

“Hey.”

_“Hey, wake up!”_

Negan groans, “Just a few more minutes, baby.”

_“Negan.”_

He sighs, rolls away from Rick’s chest and onto his back, eyes still shut groggily, “What time is it?”

“It’s 5:41.”

“In the morning??”

“Mhm.”

Negan perks up, rolls back into Rick’s chest, wrapping an arm around his core, “Then what’s all the fussin’, cowboy! I don’t have to be at the shop ‘til 10.”

“Negan, we’re at my parent’s house.”

His eyes burst open, scanning his surroundings in fleeting confusion. He chuckles incredulously, “Well shit, would ya’ look at that. I fuckin’ forgot. Musta been feeling a little _too_ at home.”

“Yeah, well rise and shine, up ‘n at ‘em,” Rick says as he pulls away from Negan to get out of bed, “We got places to go, things to see.”

Negan watches in languid satisfaction as Rick changes into a pair of considerably small track shorts and one of his old high school t-shirts that fits a little snug around the chest, watches as the muscles in his legs shift and tighten under his pale skin as he pulls on his shorts, follows all the ways his body stretches and pulls as he slips on his shirt.

“Can I help you?” Rick asks saucily when he finally sees Negan staring at him, moving to lace on a pair of beat up black converse.

Negan licks his lips, “There are _definitely_ some ways you can help me.”

Rick rolls his eyes fondly, “Let me rephrase that: Can _you_ help  _me_ by getting your ass out of my damn bed?”

Negan pouts, “Where the fuck are we even going at 5am?... And why are you always making fun of my shorts when those babies you’re sportin’ right the fuck now could easily put mine right outta business?”

Rick blushes, murmuring a quiet “We’re going biking… and fuck you.” as an answer while Negan moves to get out of bed.

He gives Rick a cheeky once over, looks up at the boy standing in front of him, “Your legs are sexy as fuck.”

Rick honks out a loud laugh at the blunt remark, “Go get dressed, asshole.”

Negan complies, giving Rick’s ass a playful grab on his way out.

Once he’s done getting dressed, he gets a text from Rick that says _‘ Meet me in the backyard.’_

He does as he's told, and when Rick sees him donned in his usual leather and denim, he guffaws.

“You're wearing _that?_ Negan, we’re going _biking_ .. and not the biker kind of biking the cyclist kind of biking.”

“Well _excuuusssee_ me, Lance Armstrong! I forgot to pack my damn shorts... and I doubt this small ass town wants an eyeful of my left fuckin’ nut at six o'clock in the motherfuckin’ mornin’ anyways.”

Rick sighs, “Just… keep up.”

They ride into town easily, the sun peeking out from it’s own socket below the horizon, greeting the two with a warm and orange hello.

“So where exactly are we going?” Negan asks after he’s been following behind Rick for a while.

“Everywhere,” Rick answers as they head downtown, where still not a living thing bustles about, “and then someplace special.”

Negan doesn’t argue with that, just continues pedaling behind Rick, sometimes beside him when they get off the sidewalks- and as they ride on, with no disruption other than the vague morning heat and the wind that whistles and partially deafens them as they move against it, Negan thinks this small town ain’t too shabby. In fact, it almost feels like it’s only him and Rick in this town. Hell, maybe even this whole world.

They pass quaint shops and fancy, Southern houses, town restaurants and the one grocery store in the entire town. As they pass them, Rick tells Negan tiny stories about all the places and what memory they hold in his head- whether that certain spot be the place where he ‘nearly got hit by a car biking there once’ or the place where he ‘rode over a bunch of gravel and busted ass’.

“I hated growing up here most of the time,” Rick tells him once they’ve gone onto a bike trail in the outskirts of town, “There was never anything to do. Had to drive forty five minutes to get to the nearest mall or movie theater. But whenever I rode my bike around, like on a Sunday afternoon or somethin’, I always felt a deep love for this town. It’s peaceful- boring yeah, but peaceful.”

“You tellin’ me there’s no hot spot here? No place where all the local teens would go and hang and fornicate n' shit?”

“There is,” he says slyly, pedaling faster, “That’s where I’m takin’ you right now.”

Negan watches in amusement as Rick bikes up a heavily inclined hill, stares at his ass in those shorts as he stands up on his pedals to build more momentum. _“ FUCKIN'_ _RIDE EM COWBOY, YEEEEEHAAWWW!!”_

Rick raises a hand, though still remains perfectly in balance on his bike, and silently flips Negan off.

Negan’s all laughs until he’s halfway up the hill. “Fuck you, Rick Grimes,” He wheezes, all this early morning exercise finally catching up to him, “Couldn’t you bring me here after lunch or somethin’? And by _car??_ ”

“Biking is funner, especially when the town is still asleep,” he contends, “Now keep up!”

“MY QUADS ARE ON FIRE!”

By the skin of his teeth, Negan makes it through the trail just a few minutes after Rick does, chest heaving and leather clinging to his sweat-sticky skin.

They park their bikes next to a nearby tree and Rick says, as fit as a whistle, “I’ll let you catch your breath.”

“How… kind of you to-to think of me .. you… you track star motherfucker..” Negan says between breaths, his windedness making his sarcasm wear thin.

When Rick deems Negan well enough, he plays leader again, straying off the dirt path and through a field of long grass and tall sunflowers, until he hears the sounds of water falling.

“Holy shit,” is all Negan says when he looks up to see the large body of murky turquoise water, all green and blue and rough, warm browns like snakeskin and jasper stone. “It's beautiful.”

Rick turns to look at Negan, sees how he gazes at the water, at the entirety of the swimming hole, with such reverence and awe. Rick has spent many weekends and spring breaks and lazy summer days here at this place, has grown so used to its beauty that it's just become a thing. But as he sees the world through Negan’s eyes- a new pair of eyes- he sees its magnificence once again.

“It is,” Rick agrees moments later, relishing in the warm look Negan sends his way before it's fatefully replace with a mischievous smirk.

_“LAST ONE IN’S THE ROTTEN EGG!”_

Wordlessly, Rick watches as Negan races to strip off his clothes, going until he's wearing nothing but the humid air that surrounds him.

Rick doesn't even think- or strip- just acts on plain reflex and jumps off the earth's ledge and into the fresh water.

When he resurfaces, he raises both fists in the air, whooping out a cry of victory just as Negan's head pops up out of the water, hair wet and matted against his skull.

 _“YOUR PHONE, YOU DUMBASS!”_ The man cries.

 _“Oh shit!”_ Rick scrambles over to the edge of the water, where the earth lay dry, reaches his hand into the soaked pocket of his soaked shorts for his phone.

When he presses the home button, the screen doesn't light up. Same goes for the lock button as well.

For a second he's filled with panic, but then it dulls down and he shrugs it off. It ain't nothing a little rice can't fix... Hopefully.

“I may be the rotten egg… but at least my phone and underwear are dry.” Negan says from his side. Rick didn't even notice he had gotten so close.

Rick tosses his phone onto the pile of Negan’s clothes, then turns to look at him with a mocking squint in his eyes. “My phone and underwear may not be dry… but at least I'm not the _ROTTEN EGG_ _._ ”

Negan laughs deep and hearty, inches in closer to Rick. “Why don't we just take off all these wet clothes?” He says, voice like velvet as he grabs at the hem of Rick's t-shirt, water slopping around their chests with every small movement.

Rick smirks, swats his hand away, splashing him with water, “I can do it myself,” he says, peeling the water heavy fabric off his body and tossing it elsewhere, doing the same with his shorts.

When Negan still eyes him expectantly, Rick sighs.

“I’m not taking off my underwear…”

Negan pouts.

“Maybe later.”

-

They hop back onto their bikes when the morning reaches the early stages of noon. The sun is reaching it’s full potential, feeling so fine against their wet skin as the wind works to cool them.

When they get back to Rick’s house they drop their bikes plain on the grass and immediately retire to the trampoline in the backyard, jumping and bumping, and Negan calling Rick a show off whenever he manages to land a decent front flip.

After they've tired themselves out by playing a horrendous game of one on one crack-the-egg, they end up lying side by side, staring up at the big and puffy clouds that drift slowly across the powder blue sky, and asking each other questions back and forth like a trivia game- they find they're all questions they already know the answers to.

“Favorite guitarist?” Rick asks.

“Easy. Jimi Hendrix… Buddy Guy’s a close second, though.”

“Favorite poem?” Negan asks.

“Anything and _everything_ by Langston Hughes.”

“C’mon, be more specific!”

“Ok fine… I guess right now it might be his poem _Ardella._ ”

“That's a good one.”

“Favorite singer?” Rick asks.

“Beth Greene.”

“Favorite book?” Negan asks.

_“The Alchemist.”_

Negan makes a face. “No way! Really?”

“Hey, I didn't say anything about your answers, asshole! And what's wrong with _The Alchemist?”_

“Nothing, nothing… Favorite color?” He asks.

“Brown.”

“Okay, okay, hold on- _fucking brown??_ Of all colors you pick the color that's the same color as _shit_ … and _dirt_ _?_ ”

Rick gives him a playful shove, “Alright, asshole, well then what's _your_ favorite color?”

Negan turns to face Rick, giving him a delighted look as he answers immediately with, “Blue-”

Rick blushes, “I swear to God if you say ‘like your eyes’ I’ll kick your ass-”

“Like your eyes,” Negan finishes, a satisfied smirk stretching his lips.

Rick rolls over on top of him in record time, pinning his arms over his head, catching Negan off guard. “You. Are so. Lame.” He grins, punctuating each phrase with large smooches on the man’s face.

Negan hums out a soft sound.

“Keep doin’ that, baby.” He says, and Rick complies easily, leaving tender pecks on his cheeks and his forehead, his nose and his temples, until he grows restless and finally they meet mouth to mouth in a wonderful drag of heat.

Rick finds his hands moving from Negan’s wrists to intertwine their fingers, squeezing his hands hard in surprise when Negan's tongue slips into his mouth with a sinful swirl.

When Rick feels something thick and hard poke his inner thigh, he starts chuckling right in Negan's face and into his mouth.

Rick lets go of his wrists, but Negan doesn't dare to even twitch them out of place.

When Negan gives him a confused look, Rick grinds down on the bulge with a dirty roll of the hips. “You like that?” He asks playfully, nearly lighthearted, even as he feels his own cock growing in his shorts.

Negan groans like he's just been punched in the gut, “UGH, baby.” He draws out the last word until it wears into a desperate whine, and Rick takes that as a yes. “This would be so much fucking better if we were naked.”

He giggles, “Yeah, and if we weren't in my backyard, for starters.”

Negan smirks, “I don't know, I think that makes it even better.”

“Ya’ think so?” He teases, moving a hand down to Negan's lap, tracing flirty shapes on his denim clad thigh before he dips his fingers into the waistband of his jeans.

He feels Negan's cock twitch against his leg. “Boy, do I think so…”

Rick moves his hand to palm at Negan's cock, feeling his warmth seep through the fabric as the man’s head tips backwards, mouth opening to sing a song of ecstasy and relief that only grows louder when Rick unzips the man's zipper, releasing his cock from its confines and finally stroking Negan with an eager hand, covering his body with his own in case there be any voyeurs.

 _“God, you’re a dirty motherfucker_ _,”_ Negan groans, voice struggling to remains steady in the midst of his pleasure, “Jerking me off on your cute little trampoline in your wet fucking clothes. Bet you been fantasizing about this since you met me, huh?”

Rick rolls his eyes, leans forwards and bites down on Negan’s neck, right where the shoulder meets. The man beneath him hisses in pain, bucking harder into Rick’s fist as he finally moves his hands to slip underneath the boy’s t-shirt, fingernails digging into the firm expanse of his lower back.

A shocked gasp escapes Rick’s mouth, trailing off into an airy moan that drives Negan wild.

“ _Fuck_ _,_ baby, I’m gonna come,” he says, breathing shallow and fast, “You’re gonna make me come, baby- _don’t fucking stop._ ”

Rick speeds up his efforts, using his thumb to gather all the precome that leaks from the head for a smoother glide.

Negan moans sharp and loud, nails digging deeper into Rick’s back as he mumbles out a string of sweet nothings, “ _Y_ _esyesyes_ _,_ oh my fucking God, Rick, you’re an angel- a fucking angel, baby. You're so gorgeous, so beautifu- _Oh God, I’m gonna come, Rick- fasterfasterfaster!”_

Negan comes hard and sloppy into Rick’s fist, chest rising and falling hard in the aftermaths of his bliss.

“Fuckin’ angel,” he continues to mumble, eyes fluttering shut in content, “... Angel baby.. _It’s just like heaven being here with youuu. You’re like an angel, too good to be true…_ ”

“Shut up,” Rick says, wiping his hand clean on Negan’s pristine white t-shirt. Negan finds, as he looks up into devilish blue eyes, that he’s not as bothered by it as he could be.

“You know you love whenever I sing to you, I can see it written all over your sweet little angel face.”

“I think there’s better things that mouth could be doi-”

 _“Ricky, are you two out there?!”_ Comes the distant voice of Rick’s mother.

 _“Shit!”_ Negan curses under his breath, Rick scrambling to get off of him as he stuffs his dick back into his pants.

Rick clears his throat. “Uh, yeah Mom! We’re- we’re out here!” He calls, voice cracking on the last word.

Negan laughs so hard it sounds like a whinny.

“There you are! I’ve been lookin’ for you two for hours!” She says as she steps onto the backyard porch, making her way towards the edge of the trampoline, bearing a grin. When she sees the bikes thrown haphazardly on the grass she turns to Rick, “I see you've found the bikes! And dragged poor Negan with ya’!”

To Negan she says, “Everyday after school it was bike, then trampoline, bike then trampoline- any chance he got! Barely saw my babyboy.”

When she finally notices Rick's wet clothes she says, not letting either one of them get a word in, “Ricky, why in the world are your clothes wet?!”

Rick opens his mouth to speak, but is cut off.

“Go inside and change _now_ , before you get sick..”

When Negan follows after Rick, she calls out, “And I want that door WIDE open!”

Rick and Negan share a quick side eyed glance, filling the air with a mischievous guilt.

-

Rick's parents leave for church later on that evening, making it just Rick and Negan, home alone.

“So what do you wanna do now that we got the _whoooole_ house to ourselves?”

Rick misses Negan's suggestive tone, or maybe he just ignores it.

“... Eat.” He answers simply.

His tongue slips between his teeth, raises a brow, “Oh really? Eat _what_ _?"_

Rick shrugs, ever blase, “I don't know… You wanna order a pizza or two? We could watch a movie.”

“Or we could _make_ a movie if you know what I’m sayin’,” Negan tries.

“Easy tiger,” Rick reaches for his phone, dials in a number, “What do you want on your pizza?”

Negan sighs in defeat, “Just cheese… Can I pick the movie?”

“Sure,” Rick says, mocking the suggestive tone Negan had been using a moment ago when he adds, “And we can watch it in _my_ room.”

Negan shoots him a wink, “Now you're speakin’ my motherfuckin’ language, baby.”

Their pizzas get there thirty minutes later, and they race up the stairs to Rick's room, each of them holding a box. By this time, Negan doesn't know why he even bothers with the racing when Rick always beats him.

Negan picks _The Shining_ because Jack Nicholson is badass and Shelley Duvall is a big eyed babe- Rick doesn't complain, and they lie on Rick's bed with their pizzas, chewing and swallowing as their eyes lay attentive on the TV screen before them.

Or at least Rick is, Negan for one seems to be having a hard time doing anything but gawking at Rick like his life depends on it.

“You know,” Negan purrs, inching closer to Rick while the boy is on the last slice of his own pie, “watching you eat that entire pizza in less than thirty minutes has been _really_ turning me on.”

“Yeah?” Rick says with his mouth full, eyes not leaving the screen as he tries to grab onto the movie’s ever building plot, “You haven't even taken a slice from yours.”

“I think I'm hungry for somethin’ sweeter,” he says, trailing kisses down Rick’s neck, following the curve of his shoulder, “Somethin’ like my baby.”

Rick hums low in his throat, but says, uncommitted, “Well your baby's _occupado. ”_

“Really?” Negan teases, feeling how the boy falls lax beneath his lips. He moves his shirt to unveil more of his shoulder, concentrates on that part of his body.

Rick moans, throws his more than half eaten slice of pizza back in the box, places the box on the floor. “I guess I can make some time for you,” he says, while Negan tugs at his t-shirt, urging him to take it off.

Rick complies, and Negan pounces on him, getting his mouth on the gorgeous skin of his chest before he can even fully get his shirt off.

When he does get it off, he grabs hold of Negan's head, tangling his fingers in the man’s hair while he directs his mouth to one of his nipples.

Negan goes easily, tongue flicking over one of the pert and rosy nubs while the other gathers attention from the guitar player’s calloused hands.

Rick's fingers pull tight on his hair, a long whimper sounding from his mouth.

The sound spurs Negan on as he fully envelops the nub, giving it a light suck before he gently grazes it with his teeth, making Rick's breath hitch in his throat.

“Beautiful,” he all but growls as he begins kissing his way down to the boy’s lap, stilling Rick's restless hips with a firm grip. “Fuckin’ beautiful, baby,” he says, punctuating each word with a wet smooch, and continuing until he reaches the button of Rick's jeans- jeans he had begrudgingly changed into when his mom commanded him to.

He unbuttons and unzips him, pulling down both his jeans and underwear in one swift movement, no time for teasing or tricking.

He _needed_ Rick.

“I wanna try something,” Negan tells him, stroking the boys cock languidly. Rick's rocking steadily into his fist, following the rhythm of his strokes like a mantra. “Don't be afraid to say no, okay?”

Rick looks up at Negan, at first with a flushed, breathless look that tells him he's a fool for breaking their silent little bubble, then with a bit of apprehension. “Okay. Like what?”

“I wanna eat you out,” Negan says, always so bluntly, looking Rick dead in the eye, hand stilling it's motions.

Rick's jaw drops. Negan watches as he tries to say something, but ultimately fishmouths. He gulps, then gains something like composure, “I-I.. Is- Does it feel good?”

Negan smirks, “Real good, baby.” He gets his hand working again as he says, “I’ll make you feel real good, I promise.”

Rick nods, spreads his legs a little wider. “Okay,” he says, “I trust you.”

Negan's hand sputters to a stop yet again as he feels his heart swell incredulously, his eyes grow a little watery. He smiles gratefully, presses a soft kiss to Rick’s inner thigh as he settles between his legs.

“If there's anything I do that you don't like, tell me- and I mean _anything_ _._ ”

“I don't like how your mouth isn't on my ass or my dick right now.”

“Say no more.”

Negan bends Rick's knees into his chest, bringing his ass up, his tight, puckered hole on perfect display- so vulnerable yet incredibly free.

He presses his thumb gently against it, feels the tension gathered in the tight ring of muscle. “Breathe, Rick. You’re okay.”

He hears how the boy releases a held in breath, can maybe even hear his heart beat massively in his chest, if he tries hard enough.

Then Negan spreads him open with both hands, replaces his thumb with his tongue, licking a flat stripe against Rick's hole, all the way to his balls.

Rick hisses out sharply, feeling every feeling so intensely, having never been touched _there_ _._ It feels good, so far.

Negan presses a kiss to his hole, repeating the gesture until it becomes sloppier, tongue licking Rick into a sloppy puddle of ecstasy and noise and nerve endings.

 _“Oh fuck! Oh, baby… feels so good,”_ Rick whines, gently pushing his ass further into Negan's face, eagerly asking for more.

So Negan gives it to him, making his tongue stiff and pointed as he traces around his rim, feeling the way he's grown pliant. Then he plunges his tongue inside, just a little bit- to test the waters- then even deeper, making Rick cry out impossibly.

_“More, more! Oh my God, Negan, baby, more!”_

Negan thrusts his tongue in and out, hand reaching back up to stroke his cock, while Rick helps Negan out and spreads himself wide open, gasping for breath as his body flushes a wild, cherry red.

He feels how Rick tenses around his mouth, so incredibly close, cock leaking profusely. He works unrelentingly, adding a finger alongside his mouth, making Rick lose his mind even more so when he slips it in past the first knuckle.

It's not long until all his hard work pays off, and Rick meets his climax with a hard jerk of his body and a guttural cry using the Lord's name in vain.

“That was- That was… so.. amazing..” Rick declares breathlessly, the come spattered across his chest and belly a non verbal testimony to that statement.

Negan lies beside him, grabs a slice of pizza from the box that still resides on the bed.

“I try.” He offers some to Rick who gladly accepts, taking a bite that takes all the toppings from the rest of the slice with it. Negan smiles. “Takes two to tango, darlin’. Hearing you get all hot and bothered really pushes me to go above and motherfucking beyond.”

“Ya’ give and ya’ take, huh?”

He nods. “Ya’ give and ya’ take, cupcake.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry it took so long to get this chapter out! I hope you all enjoyed, and thank you all for your kind words!  
> As always, constructive criticism is more than welcome. :)


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs mentioned in the chapter include:  
> 'Cigarette Daydreams' by Cage the Elephant  
> 'Donna Lee' by Charlie Parker  
> 'I Loves You Porgy' by Nina Simone

The ride back to Austin is much more enjoyable than the ride _from_ Austin. There's no tension, no nerves, no walking on eggshells trying not to let said nerves spill out on the car floor and ruin everything, and most importantly no _Lolita_ to take up all of Rick's attention. He had finished and gotten over that book in a matter of no time.

It's just a new morning and bodies rested easy, sent off with love and blessings to travel back to a big city with big noises and weird people. And a whole lot of music.

The only flaw is that the signal to Negan's favorite radio station is shot to shit.

“This one?” Rick asks, moving the dial one tick at a time to let Negan sample each station for a moment before letting him come to an ultimatum.

Shake of the head. “No.”

Tick. “This one?”

“No.”

Tick. “This one?”

“Uhh.. no.”

Tick. “This one?”

“No.”

Tick-

 _“Wait_ _,_ go back!”

Rick ticks back, keeps his hand on the dial in case of a false alarm. When he hears the familiar, repetitive down strums, he moves his hand away, knowing they've found the one.

“Fuck yeah.” Negan says, sharing a look of victory with the boy beside him- just two partners in crime.

Rick smiles, sinking back into his seat as he stares out the window, watching everything as they pass by it or as  _it_ passes by them.

The voice on the radio croons a tune that used to make Rick sad, but now with Negan beside him and the world all around, inviting them to play, the song just makes him happy.

_Did you stand there all alone?_

_Oh I cannot explain what's going down._

_I can see you standing next to me, in and out, somewhere else right now._

_You sigh, look away._

_I can see it clear as day._

_Close your eyes, so afraid._

_Hide behind that baby face._

Rick finds himself singing along with the little _doo-doo-doos_ _,_ and Negan turns to shoot him an entertained smile, happy to see Rick singing.

Then the chorus comes and they sing it to each other with much gusto, loud and proud, despite their complete vocal inabilities.

_You can drive all night looking for the  answers in the pouring rain._

_Wanna find peace of mind, looking for the answers._

_If  we could find a reason, a reason to change._

_Looking for the answers_

_If you could find a reason, a reason to stay._

_Standing in the pouring rain._

Rick's all set on following the tune all the way into it's end, but then his phone's ringtone sounds, calling for his attention.

He turns down the radio, much to Negan’ detest, and pulls his phone out of his pocket, answers the call.

It's Glenn.

“Hey, Glenn. What's up-”

_“Rick, you'll never guess what happened!!”_

“What happened?”

_“Guess!”_

“Uhh, I don't know?? You and Maggie got.. engaged?”

Glenn laughs sheepishly, “Hah, well … no but to be honest I've been thinking about poppin’ the question but-”

"Uh, Glenn.."

“Oh yeah- what was I saying? Oh, yeah! You know that piece I was working on, the one with your face?”

“Yeah,” Rick recalls all the pictures he'd been sent of the finished product, all the free prints he'd been promised, “you still haven't sent me my prints.”

“You won't need a print, Rick,” he says, voice building enthusiasm as he yells, “BECAUSE THEY'RE TURNING MY SHIT INTO A MURAL!!”

 _“Wait what?”_ His face? A mural?

“YOUR FACE! A FREAKIN’ MURAL! RIGHT IN THE MIDDLE OF DOWNTOWN AUSTIN!!”

Rick is silent, jaw hanging open slightly, phone still pressed to his ear.

_How the fuck?_

Glenn continues, “I showed my art professor the piece, cause y’kno, I respect his opinion and stuff, hes a nice man, and he freaking _loved it._ He hooked me up with some mural program for young artists and they called me back almost immediately. Rick, they _loved it!”_

His face? They loved _his face?_

“Shit..” Glenn says after he assesses his friends silence, voice apologetic, “I should've asked you first. Jesus, Rick I’m sorry- I freaking forgot. I got so excited that they liked my work that I just.. forgot to ask for your permission. It _is_ your face, after all… I'll call it off right now, if you want me to, I swear to-”

“No no no,” Rick urges, finally finding his voice, “Don't call it off, it's fine, I promise… I'm so happy for you, Glenn, but- my _face_ _?_ They liked  _my_ face?”

“Well yeah, dude, it's a nice face. Look in a mirror sometimes.” Then adds, teasingly, “but y’kno I’m sure my artistry really wooed em, too. I can be pretty cool sometimes.”

“Holy shit,” Rick mumbles, still processing this information, “Holy shit, this is …this is amazing.”

“Yeah, man.” He agrees, just as awed. “Thank you so much for having your face.. and being my friend, of course.”

“Ditto.” Rick says, and then after a beat, “and Glenn?”

“Huh?”

“I still want those prints.”

He sighs, “Fine, text me when you're back in Austin.”

When they hang up, Negan spares a curious glance at Rick, who's donning an amused smile.

“What was Glenn goin’ on about?”

Rick turns to face Negan all too excitedly, his seatbelt restricting his giddy movements, acting somewhat like an anchor that keeps him tied down to humble earth.

“They're turning his piece into a mural!” Rick explains, fizzling with joy, “Right on fucking sixth street!”

Negan's jaw drops in a happy disbelief, eyes widening in the same manner, “The piece with _your_ fucking face?”

Rick nods eagerly, grin splitting his ears.

 _“No fucking way!”_ Negan exclaims. “My baby's a fucking star,” he muses, almost like he's speaking to himself, trying to process the statement before he continues, realization dawning, _“ Holy shit … MY BABY’S A FUCKING STAR!”_

Rick blushes tomato red under the siren of Negan's adoration, smiles sheepishly. “Glenn's the star. He's the one who drew me. Painted me.”

“Glenny’s always a star in my eyes, don't get me wrong, but without you there would've been nothing _to_ draw. Takes two to tango, remember darlin’?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Rick says, wearily considering Negan's opinion.

After a few moments, Negan says, “Y’kno, I don't think anyone who's badass enough to have their face on a fucking mural could be considered _lame_ or  _boring._ ”

The two of them share a look, Ricks smile growing deeper and less reserved under Negan’s sincere gaze.

“Hmph, I guess you're right.”

Negan smiles back, reverting his gaze back onto the road and Rick turning the radio back up.

Some other less cool indie song is playing now and the oldies station’s signal is still shot. They go back to their tactic of ‘tick-no’ ‘tick-no’ until it turns into a 'tick-ok, just leave it there’ as they settle for some jazz station.

It's a little funny listening to _Donna Lee_ while driving 75 miles per hour, but a man's gotta do what a man's gotta do.

When Negan sees they're starting to run a little low on fuel, he takes an exit towards the nearest gas station, much to Rick's relief, because he's gotta take a leak.

He's filling up the van when his phone sounds from his ass pocket, breaking him from his standstill trance.

He pulls it out, sees he's getting a call from Terry, and answers it.

“Hey man!” He greets, “What’s up? How ya’ doin?”

“Oh Negan, Negan, Negan,” he sings, and the easy smile on his face is detectable in his tone, “I got some sugary shit to fill yo’ ears.”

Negan grins, “Oh yeah? Spill.”

“Oh brotha, yous feel ya ears been red? Cuz yous the talk of the town, I tell ya.”

Negan's brows knit together in confusion, he pulls the nozzle out of his tank, puts it back in the pump. He leans against the van, saying, “What do ya’ mean?”

“Every show I've had since ya jammed wit me, I have all kindsa cats comin’ up to me saying ‘Aye, where's that white guitar playin’ fella in the leatha?’. Just the otha day this cat came up to me n asked the same ole same ole, but this was different. He was some special cat. Long story short, I got yous n’ ya group a gig at the Blues Cavern.”

Negan's jaw drops, and he guffaws, _“_ _What??_ The fucking _Blues Cavern??”_

“Mhm, brotha.” Terry says, satisfied with himself, and Negan's incredulous tone, “You can thank me by puttin’ on a damn good show.”

Negan's about to respond with something light and easy, before he remembers Daryl and Beth and they're fucking issues. “Aw fuck man,” he groans, “That reminds me, there's some fuckery goin’ on in the damn band.”

“Don't tell me… it's that little one and the drummer, huh?”

“Mhm… some Fleetwood Mac kind of tension… but no cheating … I think.”

“Well… that tension helped those fellas write _Rumours …_ probably the best pop album of tha seventies.”

“You do realize you're comparing us to Fleetwood fucking Mac right?”

“Why yes I fuckin’ do,” he laughs, then says, “So does ya wants the show or not?”

Negan sighs, conflicted, “Well of course I fucking do, it's the damn Blues Cavern! … I just gotta sort some shit out, is all.”

“That's what I'm talkin’ bout, brotha, that's it right there! You got this shit! You got it like God gots the world, brotha!”

Negan laughs, a burst of confidence ripping through him, “Hell yeah, man.”

When their phone call ends, Rick's still not back, so Negan goes into the store to find him.

It doesn't take long: he finds Rick near the souvenirs, looking at keychains with various names on them.

When he looks up to see Negan at his side, he asks, almost childlike, “Have you ever seen your name on one of these?”

“I don't know,” Negan teases, “Have you?”

Rick gives him a sly look, “Maybe one day I will.”

“Yeah, well don't hold your breath on that one.”

Rick smiles, spins the conveyor, the keychains rattling with the movement.

“I got some good news,” Negan says after a beat, unable to hold it in.

“Really?”

“Mhm. We’re playing the _fucking Blues Cavern, baby!”_ He exclaims, taking Rick by the shoulders.

A few people give Negan odd looks, though a few distant whoops and hollers sound from far away as well. (They must have been to the Blues Cavern before.)

“No shit? The Blues Cavern??!” Rick laughs incredulously as Negan pulls him into a bear hug, words muffled by his chest.

“The fucking Blues Cavern, not the shitty ass Pig, the MOTHERFUCKING Blues Cavern.”

“Have you told Beth? Daryl?”

Negan heard the hidden proposition in his words, but chooses to ignore it for now.

“No, but I’ll figure that shit out, baby. There ain't no fuckin' way we’re ditching this gig, no way in fat fucking hell.”

-

The latter half of the ride home goes by like a gust of wind.

Rick’s asleep for most of it, so it ends up just being Negan and that weird jazz station.

Negan doesn't _hate_ jazz, he just hasn't particularly been exposed to it as much as he has to other types of music.

Lucille took a jazz class in high school and absolutely loved it, tried to get Negan to love it as much as she did, and while there's a lot of jazz he can recognize, there's not much he can say he truly loves. Except Charles Mingus cause that dude was a fucking badass.

They're nearly home, just a few miles away from their apartment when this haunting melody sounds from the speakers, just a gentle trickle of piano keys. It catches Negan's attention so easily, and he listens intently as the song continues, a woman's heavy voice lying so delicately over the track.

_I loves you Porgy._

_Don't let him take me._

_Don't let him handle me and drive me mad._

_If you can keep me, I wanna stay here, with you forever, and I’ll be glad._

Then another trickle of ivory keys, so delicate but so filling. So quiet but content, never crying out to be heard. It's the most powerful thing he's heard in a long time.

It reminds him of Rick.

He looks over at the boy in the passenger's seat as the song continues.

_Yes I loves you Porgy._

_Don't let him take me._

_Don’t let him handle me with his hot hands._

_If you can keep me, I wants to stay here, with you forever._

_I’ve got my man._

He feels something move within him so completely, in a way that’s nearly jarring. He only takes his eyes off of Rick for his driving’s sake.

“Baby,” Negan calls, shaking Rick’s shoulder lightly when they’re parked in their space in the complex lot. His voice is softer than usual, “Baby, we’re here.”

Rick wakes with a groan, stretching his arms out in front of himself, looking out the windows for evidence, “Already?”

“Well, you were knocked out for like two hours, so yeah.”

They gather all their bags from the backseat, lugg them over to the front steps of their apartment.

When Negan unlocks and opens the door, they both toss their shit to a side, too lazy to deal with even the minimal amount of unpacking they have to do.

They eye each other funnily for a second, speaking to each other wordlessly- a conversation with glittering eyes and lips curved tight in kind shades of pink.

Then Negan pulls the sleepy boy into his side.

“I’m tired.” Rick states, putting his head on the older man’s shoulder.

Negan turns his head to plant a kiss on Rick’s forehead, walks them to the latter’s room, since it’s closest. “I could use a nap myself, darlin’.”

-

The next day, Negan drives to Beth’s house, ready to drop the great news that could either be well or poorly received- you never know with Beth.

He knocks on her front door, and a man with wispy white hair and a matching beard answers. They give each other a once over stock full of mutual bewilderment, and then Negan shakes his head, says, “Uh, is Beth home?”

He’s met with a look of scorn, “Who are _you?”_

Negan scoffs, puffing his chest out a little. He’s about to say something when Beth’s voice sounds, her running footsteps taking company alongside.

“Daddy! Who is it?” She peeps her head out of the doorway, eyes widening when she sees who it is.

Negan takes note of her fresh and bare face: there’s no dark liner or shadow making up her eyes, no heavy lip colors or harsh blush. It’s just Beth, a young girl with an even younger looking, naked face.

“I got this one, Daddy. Go back inside.” She says, and her father wearily complies.

Once he's out of sight, Beth's demeanor changes completely, her shoulders settle and she crosses her arms over her chest, a smirk readied on her face.

“I was wondering when the fuck you'd come visit me. Whatcha doin here? You come to beg me to move back in?”

 _“Ha ha ha,”_ Negan retorts before saying, “Terry got us a gig at the fuckin’ Cavern, man. That's why I'm here.”

Beth's jaw drops but she picks it back up immediately, “Wait-wait… The Blues Cavern? As in the place that fucking birthed _Gary fucking Clark Jr.?”_

“That's the fucking place, man.”

The girl is silent for a while, arms crossing deeper. Then she sighs, “I'm not playing.”

_“WHAT?! Why the fuck not??!”_

“Because,” she says pointedly, “I can't.”

Negan scoffs, “Yes you fucking can!”

“Yeah, I can but… I don't want to.”

“Is this fucking because of Daryl??”

Beth nearly winces, “Fuck Daryl! Fuck that guy, I don't give a shit about the fucker.”

Negan takes that as a yes.

“Beth this is the _fucking Blues Cavern_ _,_ man. This could be fucking _it!_ Are you just gonna let Daryl take that away from you? Put that shit aside and focus on the _fucking music, man!”_

When she says nothing he adds, not too proud to beg, “Beth… we fucking _need_ you. You're the fucking band and a God damn half.”

“I know you fuckers need me... That's why I'm not gonna do it.”

“If you ditch this gig, Beth, you're out of the fucking band,” he tries, putting on his best serious tone.

Beth looks him dead in the eye with a tired look, “Bullshit. You're bluffing.”

“Fuck, I am,” he sighs, dropping the act, “Can you just fucking do it, Beth?!! For me? Fuck Daryl, man- I get you're trying to prove a point to him or whatever but this is what I've wanted since I was fucking  _eighteen years old!_ C’mon man..”

Beth looks awfully conflicted, her face breaking guard, finally showing all the emotions that are running through her mind. After a while she says, “Get him to talk to me, and I’ll do it.”

Negan's eyes widen, not expecting her to give in. When he speaks again, his voice is littered giddy with excitement, “Anything you fucking want, you fucking got it, Bethy, I swear to you!”

A smile twitches at the girl's lips, “You better get him here by the end of the day.. weeping … on his hands and knees… begging me for fucking mercy.”

“Say no fucking more.” Negan says, pulling the girl into a rib crushing hug.

She groans, “Fuck you _and_ your ambitious ass.”

-

Negan speeds off to Daryl's house, eagerly pounding on the front door.

He's a little caught off guard when a stocky, heavily bearded man in his late twenties answers the door.

By the look on the man's face, Negan can tell he's just as taken aback.

“Daryl home?” Negan asks impatiently, after he's been stared at for a while.

“Who the _hell_ are you?” He gets in return, and Negan thinks he's heard that tone, seen that head tilt… on Rick.

“I'm Negan.”

The man's eyes clear and widen, head tilting back into place, “You’re Ricky's boyfriend?”

“Uh, yeah that’s me… How do you, um.. know that?”

“I’m Rick's cousin, Louie… We’re a small family.”

“Oh well, nice to meet you, man,” he says awkwardly, not wanting to seem rude with his insistence on seeing Daryl, “Your cousin is hot.”

Louie grimaces, turns back into his house “... I’ll go get Daryl- come in.”

Negan accepts the invitation, takes a seat on the couch while he waits for Daryl.

When Daryl sees him, he's no less than surprised, maybe even a little worried from what Negan can read off his face.

“Hey man,” he says, a little uneasy, “What's goin’ on?? Beth alright?”

“She's alright… for the most part. Living with her Dad n’ shit.”

He watches as Daryl processes that information, swallows it down like it's a jagged pill. If he had anything to say about that, he said nothing.

“She tell ya to come talk t’ me?”

“Yeah, we made a deal," He tells him, "If I get you to talk to her, she'll play the Blues Cavern with us. If I don't, she ditches, and we don't play.”

“The _Blues Cavern?_ She's turnin’ down the Blues Cavern just cuz I won't talk to her??... Have you told Dwight we got a gig at the fuckin’ Blues Cavern?”

Negan rolls his eyes. “He was the first person I told after Rick- I saved you two motherfuckers for LAST because I knew you'd be shits about it!”

“Fuck you, man.” Daryl snaps moodily, “I got a right to do or say whatever the fuck I want.”

Negan puts his hands up in defense, “You do, man, I ain't sayin you don't… But you really hurt Beth- you hurt Beth and your hurt the band…”

“And I know you didn't mean shit of what you said to her at practice. You know how much Beth means to the fucking group- she's the _whole_ fucking group! Without her we’d be just another bunch of fuckers jumping from singer to singer, straying away from this and that. She's fearless man, she's the risk taker.”

“And you're gonna apologize to her. You're gonna go to her house, kiss her fucking feet, lick her shoes clean with your damn tongue, braid her fucking hair if she wants you to, and tell her how much she means to you _and_ to the band.”

Daryl’s jaw clenches in thought, then he looks up at Negan so vulnerably, hair all in his face, “I think I'm in love with her, man… That's why I made her leave.. n’ said all that stupid shit. I couldn't handle it- It was too much for me. Haven't ever felt somethin’ like that. Somethin’ that strong.”

Negan nods softly, a bit more understanding, “It's scary, dude. But you gotta let yourself feel it. I was a real asshole to Rick for a while- for the same reason: I was scared. I'm still scared, but sometimes something is so good that it's worth the fear. You just gotta take the first step.”

Daryl let's his words seep in, before he asks, “You in love with Rick?”

A small smile spreads across his face. He hears the piano keys twinkling light and melodic in his head, remembers how Rick’s skin looked as the sun lay gently upon it while he slept, hears Nina Simone’s thick voice sing.

_I loves you Porgy…_

“Yeah. I am.”

-

Negan makes a stop at the record store before he heads back home, scopes the place for that Nina Simone album that’s got that song on it. He finds it, buys it, and then he’s gone.

When he gets back to the apartment, Rick’s still at work, so he settles in his room, pops the record onto the plate. His restless hands give him no option of listening to the whole album, he puts it on _‘I loves you Porgy’_ , turns it up high, and flops down onto his bed.

When the song ends, he gets up and puts the needle back on it's starting line.

He does that again and again until he finds himself falling asleep, the song drifting off in the same way he is.

Then he finds himself in a dream, just him and Rick lying in a vacant expanse of tiny flowers all lush and lavender, the petals seeping out a scent that's so totally Rick: Old books and tattered denim. Texas sun on sweaty skin and machine washed cotton.

Rick's got his arm around Negan's waist as they lie chest to back, and it feels so real, the weight of his flesh and muscle and bone warm against his body,

Negan strokes his arm, can feel the hairs that lay harmless and still under his fingers, cherishes the firm broadness of his chest pressing into him.

“Negan?” Rick sounds like he's underwater.

“Yeah, baby?”

“Negan, are you awake you shithead?”

Negan stares at Rick for so long, thinking, what the fuck, of course I'm awake I'm looking right at you.

“Negan!” Rick's voice comes again, but this time it's clear, and Negan's awake, jolting back to life only to see he’s being held in the boy's embrace, his arm around his middle, back to chest- just like in his dream, with Negan's fingers caressing his skin.

“Huh,” he laughs, “Crazy… When did you get home?”

“Just a few minutes ago. How did everything go with Beth and Daryl?”

Negan informs him of the situation and every minor and minuscule detail that makes it up. “I did my part,” Negan finishes, “now they gotta do theirs.”

Rick nods, “They'll come to their senses. There's no way they would turn down a gig this huge.”

“Lord, I fuckin’ hope they wouldn't.”

They lay with each other in silence for a little longer, Rick hitching a leg over Negan's hip to get even more comfortable.

“Hey, baby?” Negan says, before he gets too comfy and falls asleep.

“Mhm?”

_I love you .._

“ I… Will you come to our show? .. If shit works out as planned?”

Rick smiles into the nape of Negan's neck, “Of course, baby. I'll always go to your shows. Every chance I get. I mean it.”

_I love you._

Negan smiles back, though the boy can't see it. “I know you do.”

Rick presses a kiss to his shoulder, snuggles back into him.

 _I love you, I love you, I love you_ is all that dances through Negan's mind.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading!! I hope you enjoyed, and as always, constructive criticism is more than welcome. :) <333


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> songs mentioned in this chapter include:  
> 'The End' by The Doors (the snake is long.... seven miles long..)  
> 'Man of Constant Sorrow' by Bob Dylan  
> 'All Things Must Pass' by George Harrison  
> 'I'l Be Your Mirror' by The Velvet Underground and Nico

Everything moves so fast- like it always has, but now everyone's starting to notice it. Especially Negan.

Once Beth and Daryl worked their shit out and became civil, The Saviors started their practices up in routine fashion, practicing long, hard and  _loud_ hours almost daily.

Rick hardly saw Negan without a guitar in his hands, and when he did, it wasn't long until it was back in his reach, whether it be during practice time or their own time.

It does pester Rick a little bit, maybe alotta bit sometimes, but he never says anything, just keeps it to himself. He knows how much this means to Negan, and how nervous he must be, especially after The Pig. That guitar is his outlet, his second lover. It's been with Negan longer than Rick has, and it will always be there.

So foolish jealousy be damned, Rick's going to try to swallow his pride and let Negan do his thing.

But is it a sin to want just a little more attention from the man he loves?

Today, when he gets home from work, he sees Negan sitting there on the couch with his guitar in his hands, head tilted back and eyes shut while his fingers do all the work.

He looks hot as hell, but _God_ _,_ if it just doesn't poke at Rick's buttons.

Fuck it, he thinks, he'll save swallowing his pride for another day, another far away day.

Right now, he's going in for the kill.

But first he tests the waters, going to sit impossibly close to the guitarist, just to see how he might react, thinking maybe today Negan will be different. Maybe he'll take a hint and set that hunk of wood and metal down and actually spare Rick a glance.

He gets nothing in response, not a budge or a twitch, a fumble of the fingers or a blink of an eye.

 _“Negannn,”_ He whines, voicing his existence as he moves in closer, until his face is only inches away from Negan's, “I’m home.”

Negan hums tersely in response, cracks open one eye to steal a glance at Rick. A faint smile taints his lips when he sees how close he is. Still his fingers keep moving. Then both of his eyes are shut again, head leaning back into it's original spot.

He sighs internally. Time to pull out the big guns.

Rick attaches his lips to Negan's neck, seemingly out of nowhere, and clutches the man's inner thigh with vigor, feeling the slick body of the guitar cool against his hand. He shoves at it insistently.

“I missed you, baby,” he coos between his affections, “Been thinkin’ bout you all day long.”

He feels how Negan's thigh twitches under his grasp, hears a note slip out of the melody his fingers play. He smiles smugly, but it's short lived.

 _“Fuck,_ baby, I-I can't right now, okay? I’m busy.” He explains as he scoots away, clutching the damn instrument like it's a security blanket, leaving Rick's lips without warm skin.

Rick scoffs, “Busy with what?” He gestures to his guitar, “With _that?_ You're with that thing all day! That's all you've been doing this whole damn week, playing your guitar!”

“Rick, c’mon, you sound like my fucking Mom.”

The boy continues on, “You're playing the same songs you played at the fucking Pig! What's the point? You know all those songs already, you don't have to practice them all damn day long! What do you do all day at band practice that you still have to practice those songs here? Huh?”

Negan's fingers finally come to a stop as he sets his guitar off to the side, jaw set stiff as he says, not completely looking Rick in the eyes, “You know of all fucking people, I expected you to understand and not be such a fucking asshole.”

Rick guffaws humorlessly, “ _Me? I’m_ the asshole?”

“Yeah, _you_ , little miss fucking perfect. You're the asshole for once!”

“Fine,” he says, standing up from his seat, “I’m sorry wanting to spend some time with you- just _you_ \- makes me an asshole.”

He storms off into his room, locks the door behind him. Yeah, he feels pretty immature and yeah, he let his feelings get the best of him but- but…

Shit, he fucked up.

“Rick, come back..” He hears Negan sigh, just a few steps away from the door he's standing with his back against. Negan rattles the knob, “Did you really just lock your door…? Baby, c’mon, let’s- let's talk about this.”

“That's what people in healthy relationships do, right? They talk about their shit? … Y’kno, shit talk and all that.. I read about it in Cosmo.”

Rick feels a small smile form onto his face without his permission, and all the tension in his body subsides. He turns to unlock the door, and when he opens it and sees Negan standing there, so willing and just so _himself_ _,_ he can't keep it all in anymore.

“I’m so sorry,” he says firstly, voice ridden with guilt as he bores into Negan's warm, brown eyes, “I know how much this means to you, I know how nervous you must be and how much you deserve something like this. You were right, I was just bein' a fucking asshole and I demonized you for doing something as simple as playing your guitar, just 'cause I was jealous.”

He pours himself into Negan's arms, hoping he’ll let him in.

He does.

“You're not an asshole,” he says softly, wrapping his arms around the boy, pressing his cheek against Rick's, “I didn't mean it.” He presses a kiss to his forehead. “I should've talked to you more instead of just fucking putting it all into my guitar, but I was-fuck, I _am-_ so goddamn scared. It just means so fucking much: The music… _you._ I don't wanna fuck it up.. and I don't wanna hurt you.”

Rick pulls away just enough look up at Negan. “You're gonna hurt me," he says, "We're gonna hurt each other. Who knows if it’ll be intentional or not, but either way, it's gonna happen- and we can't stop it. You don't have to promise me you won't hurt me. I won't make you do that. It's an empty promise anyways.”

Negan eyes him wearily, looking as though he's having a hard time accepting Rick's words. His brows knit together with conviction and his thumb strokes through the coarse hair on the boy's jaw as he says, “I love you, Rick. I want to love you ten times more than I'll ever hurt you.”

Rick opens his mouth say something, but before he can get a word in, his mouth is being covered by Negan's so intensely, a blanket of wet heat that he'd been craving the minute he had walked through the door and laid an eye on the man.

Rick moans deeply into the kiss, unlatches his lips from Negan's, and quickly says, “I think you will,” with a mirthful grin before he's being consumed again, his hands moving to roam wildly in the strands of dark, shiny hair.

Rick hums, “God, I love you,” punctuating each phrase with a big, wet smack on his boyfriend's mouth, _“_ _IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou.”_

Negan groans, hands moving down south to grab two handfuls of Rick's ass, “You're the sexiest fucking thing I've ever seen, baby. I'm a fucking idiot for turning you away. Fuck that guitar, man. It makes me blind sometimes.”

Rick kisses him again, “Hey, I like your guitar- well, guitars. I like how much you love music, how much you love your guitars. I was just being a dumbass.”

“Fuck, say that again.” Negan moans, kissing down Rick's neck as he speaks.

“The whole thing?”

Negan nods, “Minus the dumbass part.”

He says it again, and Negan growls in delight, kissing back up Rick's jaw until the distance between their mouths is paper thin. “Do you want me just as bad as I fucking want you right now?”

Rick giggles, brings a hand up to cradle the side of Negan's face, his thumb sitting in the crevice of a dimple. “You bet.”

Negan smirks, licking his lips so smugly, “Thank fucking God.”

Rick tilts his head up to join their lips again, their kisses deepening gradually, the sounds of their mouths moving together traveling straight to their groins.

Then before he knows it, his feet are no longer on the ground: Negan clutches under Rick's thighs, hitching the boys legs around his waist as he carries him back into his own room just a few steps away, their lips separating only when he has to lie Rick down on the bed.

Negan strips himself down to his boxers briefs, and Rick does the same as he gawks hungrily at the man standing over him.

“What do you want, baby?” Negan asks as he moves in on the boy's body, chest to chest as he slinks downwards, spreading Rick’s legs so he can settle easily between them.

“You.” Rick says almost drunkenly, like it had slipped from between his lips, and Negan laughs a laugh that sounds like a song. Rick shakes his head, tries again, “Finger me- I want you to finger me.”

“Comin’ right up.”

Negan pulls off Rick’s underwear in a single swift movement, throws them off to the side, and gives Rick’s dick his undivided attention.

He gets a little carried away, sucking dick like it’s his last day on earth, or like he completely missed the fingering memo- not that Rick minds, because he never does when Negan’s agenda consists of his mouth and Rick’s cock, and those two things together.

Rick’s close to the edge, inching closer and closer, bracing himself by tangling his fingers in Negan’s hair, pulling hard.

But then the wet, plush heat relents, Negan choosing that moment of all moments to come to his senses and remember the task he had at hand.

Rick chokes on a scream, driven desperate by the loss of such an intense sensation as he bucks helplessly up into the air.

Negan pins his hips down with his arm. “Fuck, sorry about that, babe. Lost sight of the big picture. Your dick is just too pretty.”

Rick whines, trying to rub himself off on Negan’s arm, so close yet so far.

Negan smirks, all to satisfied with himself, as he all but speaks into Rick’s cock, his hot breath grazing his pained, spit-slick skin, “Just look at it right fucking now.. All red and swollen.. Fucking gorgeous.”

 _“Just get. the fucking. lube.”_ Rick grits out, becoming frustrated with the all consuming heat that bites and nips at the expanse of his skin.

Negan complies, and Rick doesn’t relax until he hears the snip of the bottle opening and closing, followed by the slick sounds of Negan lubing up his fingers.

His breath hitches in his throat when he feels the familiar feeling of a finger probing around inside of him, rubbing against him in search of his prostate, crooking and angling the digits for the boy's sake.

When he finds it, Rick cries out, shoving his body against Negan's fingers as he slips another one in, relishing in the warm, stretching feeling.

“Magic fingers, huh?” Negan muses slyly, planting a kiss on Rick's flushed chest, speeding up his movements.

“Shut- _oooh_ \- shut up.” Rick says, but there's no heat to it. He’s hardly even attached to his words, just exists as a live wire under Negan's hands until he regains himself, saying, “Another, give me another.”

Negan smirks, “What do ya’ say?”

 _“Please!_ _”_ Rick pleads, skin painted pure scarlet, in love and lust and frustration, “Please, you _fucker. ”_

“Well, since you asked so nicely.” Negan slips in a third finger, Rick groaning wild and broken at the burn of the stretch.

Negan gives him a second to get used to the sensation, to relax under his touch, and then he picks up his rhythm again, building his pace as his fingers fuck into Rick, inducing a sinfully wet noise each time he moves in and out.

Negan feels the firm muscles in his thighs tense, sees the way his diaphragm fills and empties with each gasping breath. When Rick reaches a hand around his own cock, Negan swats his hand away, giving the boy a grim look. “Oh no you fucking don't!”

Rick whines in detest, until his face breaks in revelation, and he says, so delightedly, “Fuck me.”

“What?”

“You heard me,” Rick smirks as Negan's fingers come to a stop, “Fuck me.. Let's see if it's not just your fingers that are magic. Or are you all talk?”

“Baby, I’m the bark _and_ the bite. You should know that by now,” he says, then adds, as he removes his fingers, stripping himself of his underwear, “but you know what they say… _the snake is long, seven miles long_ _._ ”

Rick rolls his eyes, “That makes no sense.”

“Anyways, you got a condom? Preferably in extra _extra_ medium.”

“Nope,” Rick answers, “Do they even make condoms in medium?”

“I don't think so. It would crush too many dudes egos.”

“Yeah, like yours.”

“Fuck you. I'm gonna go get that condom.” Negan responds, leaving the room momentarily.

When he comes back, Rick watches as he tears the packet open with his mouth, grimaces, and sheaths himself with it, coating his covered cock with more lube.

No nerves spell Rick, no tense muscles, or scribbled, racing thoughts.

“This feels natural,” he says, filling the easy air with his voice.

Negan looks up at him with amused eyes, and just studies his face for a second before he breaks into a soft grin, he responds with a simple, “Good.”

It all flows perfectly from there on out, an idyllic episode of a daydream Rick's sure he's caught himself having many times.

All his life, sex has been this scary thing. An act of defiance, an act of regret. An act of spontaneity or boredom.

It was vulnerability and it was pain (if not done correctly). It was cool and then it was shamed. It was sweat and juice and tears and embarrassment.

But right now, as Negan hovers over him, eye to eye and nose to nose, lips smooshing together in the waves of how the man's body rocks into his- sex is love.

It's all love.

And that's all he ever wants sex to be: deep like a river and high like a mountain.

“I-I love you,” Rick whispers, shaky and breathless, barely to be heard against the slapping of skin on skin, if not for how close Negan was to him.

Negan's hips slow down, his breathing trying hard to even out as Rick's tone snaps him back to earth. “I love you too, baby.” He says, smiling softly. Beads of sweat drip down the tip of his nose and the edge of his chin, mingling with the perspiration of Rick's own. After taking a closer look at the boy, his smile fades into a worried frown, “Are you crying..? Or is that sweat?”

Rick laughs tenderly, “Both, I think.”

“You're okay, right? I'm not hurting you or anything?”

“No,” he says as gently as he can, hands moving to grab Negan roughly by the hips, “Now  _fuck me._ ”

-

Rick's asleep in Negan's arms when he hears the doorbell ring, followed by a rapping knock.

The sound doesn't startle Rick's post orgasm slumber, he just snores on, sleeping like the dead.

“Aw fuck me,” he mutters under his breath when there's another ring and another knock.

Rick still doesn't budge.

He untangles himself from Rick at a snail's pace, half because he doesn't want to, half because he doesn't want to face the wrath of Rick that's sure to come if the boy's torn from his nap too early.

When he's free, he throws on his boxer briefs and his white t-shirt, and goes to answer the door.

It's Glenn, wearing clothes that are freckled with dry paint and holding what looks to be a rolled up sheet of laminated paper, like a huge diploma.

“Glenny my boy!” He greets, loving the way it makes the boy grimace, “Sorry to inform you, but you don't live here anymore! Haven't for fuck knows how long, much to my dismay.”

“You stink,” is Glenn's comeback, “Literally, you smell like sex.”

Negan smirks, tongue between teeth, “Wanna know why?”

“No, I really don't,” Glenn says quickly, shoving the fat roll of paper into Negan's hands, “Just take this. It's the main print. Tell Rick I'll drop off the baby ones later.”

Negan takes it, unrolling it despite Glenn's protests. When his eyes are finally allowed to feast upon the fruits of Glenn's labor, he thinks his breath clogs quick in his chest.

Rick had never let him see the work, just told him about it. He had wanted to keep it a surprise until the print came in, and while Negan hates surprises, he thought he'd let Rick have this one.

The surprise makes it better, he concludes. It makes seeing the print so much better.

“Oh wow,” Negan says under his breath. It's all he can say as he studies the lines and the strokes and the puddles of messy color. It all astounds him.

He stares into the eyes of the painting, all the different splotches of blue, and he feels a chill run up his spine, the same kind that occurs to him when he looks into Rick's eyes.

“Fucking shit, Glenny,” he utters and his voice breaks, something warm and wet running down his cheeks.

Fuck, he's crying. When did he start crying?

“You-He.. He looks… great. You really got _him._ ” He sniffles and Glenn smiles, laying a hand on the older man's shoulder, voicing his genuine Thank You.

“Dammit, sorry for being a little gay... Fuck it, a lot gay.”

“It's alright. I always preferred gay Negan over asshole Negan.”

“Well today, you get both, motherfucker.”

He pulls Glenn into a hug, careful not to let the print get in the middle of them.

“Thank you,” He tells Glenn, and he means it.

Glenn leaves and he goes back inside, making his way into his room.

He manages to dig up some thumbtacks that had been loitering his room with no conviction, and finally puts them to good use as he hangs up the giant print right above his record player, tearing down as many posters as he needs to make room for it.

He figures he should buy a frame for the thing and _then_ hang it up all official like, but he's an impatient man, so this will have to do until he can get his hands on one.

“Glenn finally dropped one of the prints off, huh?”

Negan spins around, startled by Rick's voice.

He takes in the boy's form, leaning half naked against his door frame, eyes half lidded, slowly growing wider the longer he stands awake.

“Yeah,” he says after a beat, “Just a minute ago.”

“Do you like it?” Rick asks, vaguely sheepish.

“I love it.”

Rick smiles, walks over to Negan and stands beside him as they gaze at the piece of art on the man’s wall in studious silence.

“You look pained,” Negan says after a moment, in regards to his painted face.

Rick chuckles lightly at that, sings easily,  _“I’m a man of constant sorrow. I’ve seen trouble all my day.”_

Negan bumps Rick’s shoulder peacefully with his own, “Motherfucker. I knew you’d like Dylan.”

-

Later when the sky is dark and blue, freckled with white-yellow spots, Rick and Negan have a beer together, sitting across from each other at the circle table in the kitchen, speaking of nonsense, just throwing words and thoughts and questions around at each other as if they were playing a game of catch.

Rick notices that when he brings up the show at the Cavern, Negan grows distant and antsy. He sees how his leg bounces up and down, how his fingers start to tap anxiously at worn wood of the table, and how his eyes wander to a corner in the living room, where they both know one of his guitars resides nearest.

His replies and remarks grow terse with time, to the point where Rick can’t help but to bring it up.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” He asks, voice riddled with concern, “and don’t say nothin’, cause I know it’s somethin’.”

Negan sighs, takes a swig from his beer, he looks up at Rick and says like he had earlier, “I’m fucking scared. I’m terrified.”

“Of what?” He asks, though he knows what. He just wants to understand.

“Of being shit, man. I can’t fuck this one up, not after The Pig.”

“You won’t,” Rick says, and he believes it. “You guys are great. Amazing. There’s no one like you guys. No one like you.”

Negan nods like he’s trying hard to understand it. Then he just shakes his head, sighs again. It’s a sigh that rocks his chest and shoulders. “I've been killing myself for a chance at something like this for years, ever since I stepped foot in this city. I was going corner to corner asking people to just listen to me play, to just give me a shot. Hardly anyone gave me the time of day, and if they did, it wasn’t the time I wanted to be given, ykno?”

Rick listens on, knows Negan has a lot more to say just by the look on his face, by the grip he has on his beer.

“Then I decided I had to work on myself before I could ever get anywhere. Figured I couldn’t get anywhere on just a fucking D and G chord, so I learned some songs, some scales, some licks- then I unlearned them. Then I started writing my own shit, and it all became personal, it became an investment... because I was _in it_ now. That’s when people started listening to me: when I had my own shit to say, even if it wasn’t words, just noises off a slab of wood and strings.”

“But that took like, what, five years? Maybe six, I don’t know. It takes some people _decades_ to get to that feeling when they play. It’s like security. Some people never get it. Then I started looking for other people to jam with. I didn’t care if they were shitty or whatever, I really just wanted them to have the same idea as me, to love music as much as I fucking do and to love it honestly and devotedly. I found those people- but I found them when I wasn’t looking. I had them thrown at me- literally had them thrown at me; Beth and Daryl were being kicked out of some jazz club and the bouncer threw them right into me as I was walking past. Dwight was literally just plain luck. I don’t know what I did to deserve them, especially since I had just met you not too long before I met them. Figured I had already gotten more than I deserved when you came into the picture.”

“I don’t fucking know, man, it’s just been so much good these past months. I mean, c’mon, we landed a gig at the fucking Cavern by just sitting on our fucking asses. I had to talk a bunch of fucking game just so we were able to play The fucking Pig.. It just makes me wonder, when’s this lucky streak gonna end? Cause it has to. Everything has to come to an end. Good or bad.”

Rick thinks about all Negan’s just said, then ultimately says, “Maybe all this good is just the universe apologizing to you for all the bad stuff. Maybe it’s trying to even things out.”

“Either way, it has to end.” Negan muses, “And what if it’s the show that has to suffer because of it? Like The Pig 2.0, but worse ‘cause this time it’s not the rednecks fault, we just plain suck ass.”

Rick chuckles at the silliness of his proposition, “I honestly doubt that’ll be the case. They sought you guys out. They already like you guys, you just gotta play and they’ll like you even more.”

Negan seems willing to accept that.

“I hope that’s the case, angelface,” He says, voice easier, sparing Rick a wink before he downs the rest of his beer.

Rick takes a sip of his and then says, “What you were saying earlier reminded me of that one song by George Harrison. He named the whole album after it- Shit, I can’t remember the name..”

_“All things must pass?”_

Rick snaps his fingers, “Yes! That one!”

“Great song.”

“Fantastic song.”

A beat and then Negan remembers, “I got the fuckin’ shit on vinyl, wanna go listen?”

Rick raises an eyebrow, “Are we actually gonna listen or are we just gonna make out?”

Negan shrugs, “We can do a mix if you want. Thirty percent listening, seventy percent making out.”

“Wow,” Rick laughs, “That’s generous.”

They trek back into Negan’s room, a new beer for the both of them, and face the numerous, intimidating crates of vinyl records.

“Are they in alphabeti- alphabetical order?” Rick asks, a toe already in the tipsy waters.

“No,” Negan answers, turning to look at Rick’s face, “Don’t tell me you’re drunk already.”

He pouts, “I’m not… that word’s just hard to say.”

Negan discards his answer, goes on saying, “I sort these fuckers by the last time I listened to them… and by wherever the fuck they fit.”

“When’s the last time you listened to _All Things Must Pass_ _?"_

“Like 2014.”

Rick’s eyes widen, and then he turns to helplessly eye the records once more. “I guess we better start looking. While the night is still young.”

Negan agrees and the both of them take a generous chug of their beers before grabbing a crate each and rummaging through them.

Maybe it’s the alcohol, but for some reason, the task at hand is just so entertaining. He finds himself laughing at every record he didn’t nearly expect Negan to have in his collection, from Whitney Houston to Abba to Guns N Roses (a band Negan completely despises- or so he says) to fucking Korn.

“Whitney was a fucking legend, okay? Saw that baby sitting in the sales pile and I couldn’t believe my eyes, so I bought it. No fucking regrets.” He explains unabashedly, “As for the Korn… Hey, at least it ain’t Guns N Roses, am I right?”

They both begin to grow restless as their search stretches on, a thick layer of boredom induced tiredness covering their brains. They find so many fucking George Harrison albums- but not the one they need.

Rick is flicking through an endless crate of LPs, when a certain cover art really catches his eyes. It’s just plain white with a ripened banana on it.

When he pulls it out for further inspection, he sees that all it says on the bottom corner is ‘Andy Warhol’. He looks at the thin spine of the sleeve and reads, almost unable to make out through the wear it has weathered, _The Velvet Underground and Nico ._

He’s never heard of them, he doesn’t think.

“Babe, what’s this?” Rick asks, holding up the album.

Negan looks up from his designated crate to see, eyes lighting up impossibly when they land on the record.

“Holy shit,” He says incredulously, getting to his feet, “I was so fucking sure Beth had stolen that from me. I’d been looking for that fucker everywhere!”

He takes the piece of music from Rick’s hands like he’s been offered the solution to all his problems.

“I was like, jokes on her for stealing this shit ‘cause this whole album is warped except for most of  _I’ll Be Your Mirror._ ”

Rick gives him a questioning look from his spot on the floor.

“It melted a little… It’s fucking Texas, and I left it in my car, what do you expect?”

“Why don’t you just throw it out, or something?”

Negan stares down at him with his jaw dropped, looking as if Rick had told him to give away one of his children. “I couldn’t bring myself to throw out the Korn and the shitty ass Guns N Roses, you really think I’m gonna chuck Velvet and Nico?”

Rick raises an eyebrow, unamused.

Negan shakes his head, sighs melodramatically, “Listen and learn, baby. Listen and fucking learn.”

He puts the record on the turntable, places the needle on the only part of the record that isn’t tarnished.

A chimey tune sounds from the speakers, loud and crisp despite the slight fuzz of the production quality.

Negan immediately starts to do a little dance, an innocent head bop that moves his shoulders with it. Rick laughs and the low, throaty voice of a woman joins the mix, meshing well despite the juxtaposition.

Negan shimmies towards Rick, holds his hands out with a large grin, offering the boy to stand up and dance with him.

Rick accepts and Negan pulls him to his feet.

They sway and spin in foolish ways that are completely devoid of rhythm, hands intertwined carelessly, all just for fun. Not one inch of Negan’s bedroom floor goes danceless, as Negan ventures them around and around, singing along with the song.

_I'll be your mirror, reflect what you are, in case you don't know._

_I'll be the wind, the rain and the sunset, the light on your door to show that you're home._

_When you think the night has seen your mind, that inside you're twisted and unkind,_

_Let me stand to show that you are blind._

_Please put down your hands, ‘cause I see you._

The song is a short two minutes, and when it ends, Rick pushes Negan back onto his bed and kisses him silly, the warped parts of the rest of the record wickedly filling the room.

“I like this one,” Rick says, in between their shared kisses, in regards to the song they’d just danced to.

“I do, too.” Negan replies.

“Keep this one.”

“I am. I have been.”

“Keep this one forever.”

Negan laughs, moves his hands to run through the soft mess of brown curls on Rick’s head, “I plan on it.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading, I hope you enjoyed! As always, constructive criticism is more than welcome. Thank you all again. :) <33333


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs mentioned in this chapter include:
> 
> 'When My Train Pulls In' by Gary Clark Jr.  
> 'Cruisin' by Smokey Robinson  
> 'Some' by Steve Lacy (the moderately funky indie song)  
> 'You Shook Me' by Led Zeppelin
> 
> If you guys want to follow me on Spotify, my user is leeyumpain (dont ask). I've created a playlist for this fic that has every song that's been mentioned so far. I'll be adding to it as this story goes on, and feel free to check out all my other playlists too. :)

“So this is it, huh?” Beth says to Negan as she loads Daryl's bass drum into the back of Negan's van.

It's the day of the show in the middle of the afternoon and the sky is full of thick, gray clouds that look full to the brim.

It hasn't rained since March, and just yesterday it was your typical hot and dry June day, not a cloud in sight that dared to mute the sun’s rays- the kind of day where you take a dip in the river dry up to near prune-like state only a minute after you get out.

They try not to read into it as much as they know they could, they've got enough on their plates as it is.

Negan nods, grunting as he and Daryl load up his Marshall stack. “This is fuckin’ it, man. The gig that could either make us or break us.”

“I think we’ll be fine,” Daryl says matter of factly, breaking through the tense mood of Beth and Negan's words with his casual tone, “Whether we blow it or not. It's just the Cavern.”

Beth punches his arm, “ _Just the Cavern??!_ It's not _just the Cavern_ _-_ ”

“It's the motherfucking _Blues_ Cavern!” Negan contends.

“The home of Gary fucking Clark!” Beth finishes.

Just then, Dwight pulls up in his car, parks right next to Negan's van, interrupting their debacle.

When he gets out and joins their circle, Sherry by his side, he says, “Sup guys, what's going on?” Sherry goes around greeting everyone with friendly kisses on the cheek.

When she gets to Negan she asks, “Where's Ricky?”

“He's inside, tuning the axe,” he answers, and then she slips away to go meet him.

“Dwight!” Beth continues, firm in her argument, “Tell Daryl the Cavern is a big fucking deal.”

“The Cavern’s a big deal,” he says, and he means it, “Gary Clark, man. That's all the reason you need, Gary fucking Clark.”

 _“Exactly!”_ She exclaims, “Fucking thank you!”

Daryl rolls his eyes, “So he fucking played there like three times as a kid, it's not like he was discovered there! You think they call him the Chosen One because he played the Cavern? No, they call him that cause fuckin’ Clapton asked him to play the Crossroads fest.”

They're all silent for a moment, too stubborn to admit he may be right.

“I guess that's true,” Dwight shrugs.

Beth sighs, crosses her arms over her chest, “Touché.”

“Look, I just wanna fuckin’ rock,” Negan says just as Rick is leaving the apartment with Sherry, Negan's cased guitar in his hands.

“She all tuned up?” Negan asks when Rick hands the case over to him, offering the boy a wide grin.

Rick nods, gives his own grin in return, “To the best of my abilities.”

“Good,” Negan smirks, leaning down to land a quick kiss on his lips. Then he turns to everyone and says, “Alright, let's get this show on the fucking road!” as if the venue isn’t right down the street- literally within walking distance.

He loads his guitar into the van lastly, atop all the mess, so it won’t risk any damage, and then closes the trunk.

They all board the van, save for Dwight and Sherry, who came in their own ride, and drive away to the Cavern.

The scene is nearly the same as the scene just hours before their show at The Pig, but their heads seem to be screwed on a little tighter now, and the day is gloomy.

“Looks like a fuckin’ funeral out here,” Negan grumbles, eyeing the sky with discontent.

“At least it’s not raining.” Rick tries.

Almost immediately after his words hit the air, a soft patter of raindrops fall from the fat clouds in the sky, building aggression as they land against the van’s windshield, gravity taking its hold.

“Spoke too soon.” Rick murmurs, almost apologetically.

Beth laughs, and it’s the perfect shade of joy to mismatch Negan’s disgruntled form. When she meets Negan’s sour look in the rear view mirror, she says, with a positive shrug of the shoulders, “Just a little rain. We been needin’ it here anyways, the grass has been lookin’ too yellow.”

Daryl hums in thought, willing to accept her view. Negan does grant her as much.

They park in the unloading spaces in front of the venue and begin to do as designated, the rain that falls hard on their heads marking their duties with a time stamp.

Beth grabs all the microphones, the mic stands, and all the wires and plugs for the rigs, Daryl handles all the pieces of his drum kit, and Rick helps with most of the amplifiers and pedals.

Negan grabs his guitar case, treats it with tender care like he always does, but for some reason- some godawful reason- all three clasps to his case unlatch, and his precious vintage Fender goes tumbling to the floor, taking a hard blow, strings side down on the wet, puddly pavement.

The impact emits a heartbreaking sound, a fatal sound that means no good to Negan’s ears.

He doesn’t realize his eyes are crinkled shut until he feels too afraid to open them, because  _fuck_  that sounded ugly.

When he builds up the courage to finally take a look, he sees his guitar in two pieces, the body separated from the neck, hanging on by what he can only describe as splinters of wood and wound, nickel strings.

His baby, his comrade of over six years, dead in the blink of an eye. All those months of eating nothing but canned tomato soup for breakfast, lunch, and dinner sentenced to naught.

He falls to his knees in defeat, letting out a guttural cry, _“_ _LUCILLE!!! No, no, no, not Lucille!”_

“Negan?” Comes Rick’s voice as he returns from dropping off the band's cargo. He sees the guitar, sees Negan on his knees, soaked in rain and hopelessness. “Oh my God, what happened?!”

 _“What the fuck does it look like?!?”_ Negan snaps, the words spitting out through the spaces between his teeth, jaw clenched tight. He catches himself immediately, releases a long, pent-up sigh, and then he tries again, this time much more somber, “Fuck, I’m sorry, I just- God, I fucking dropped her, man.”

Rick takes none of his words to offense, but sees the despair on his face, and goes to his side, “Negan, look, baby.. it's alright-”

“I can't fucking do this, Rick. I can't-I, this is a fucking sign. It's a sign, big and red and plain as fucking day. There’s no way we can go through with this, we're just gonna embarrass oursel-”

“Negan, listen to me!” He raises his voice, and the man goes silent, staring intently into his eyes, “I'm not gonna let you _not_ do this. I'm not gonna let you ruin this for the band- baby, for _yourself_ _._ You're ready for this. You were _made_ for this.”

Negan whimpers, averts his gaze to his broken guitar, “But Lucille-”

“But nothing,” Rick presses firmly, “Now give me your keys.”

“What? Why?” Negan's face contorts indignantly, but he hands them over anyways.

“I'm gonna drive home and get you your other backup, and you're gonna go inside and get out of the rain and get ready to soundcheck with the rest of ‘em.”

Negan remains weary, but adds, “Can you bring the SG?”

“Is that the pointy, black one?”

“Yeah, like Carlos Santana Woodstock ‘69, but black.” Negan clarifies, like Rick knows what kind of guitar Carlos Santana used in _19-fucking-69._

“Um okay..” Rick says, “Now go inside, your eyeliners dripping.”

Negan touches lightly at his eyes, sighs, and turns to make his way inside.

“Negan?”

The man stops, turns around again, “Hm?”

“I love you,” Rick says.

A smile breaks onto his face, real and warm against his sorrowful appearance.

“I love you too, baby.”

-

Rick comes back donning dry clothes, equipped with a cased, black Gibson SG- all in one operable piece- and a change of clothes for Negan, too.

Negan's heart swells incredulously at the sight, and he nearly envelopes Rick in a crushing bear hug, until he remembers he's absolutely soaked, so he settles for a kiss.

“You're the fucking best, baby, I fucking mean it,” he says, Rick's face in his hands as he kisses him over and over again as an expression of his gratitude.

Rick wraps his hands around Negan's wrists, smiling up at the man, “I know. Now get out of those wet clothes and go soundcheck.”

Negan smirks, waggles an eyebrow at his sudden confidence, “I love when you get all… bossy.”

“Shut up,” Rick laughs, no heat behind his words, just fondness. He pulls away, playfully shoving Negan towards the dressing rooms.

After their soundcheck, it was all just a matter of time before the people started piling in, leaving The Saviors to boil in their own nerves in the comfort of their backstage sanctuary.

There’s a lot of people, way more than the Pig could hold, and while the rehearsals they'd had not an hour ago had left them with a surge of reassurance, they couldn't help but have their brains wracked with anxiety.

Everything was mostly quiet and fidgety, all of them squished onto one large, leather couch, knees bouncing up and down as they're pressed up side to side with one another like a chain of fools.

Terry walks in, gets one look at the bunch of them and asks, “Y’all ain't wanna pull up a chair or somethin’? Y’all's lookin’ tighter than a pack of sardines on that poor, ass-stinkin’ couch.”

Negan speaks on behalf of all of them, saying, “No, man, we’re fine. Thanks.”

Terry gives them an amused look, “Hmm.. Suit ya’ selves. But don't get too comfortable now. Shows about to start.”

Beth, Dwight, and Negan share an uneasy look, to which Daryl, the only member of the band who’s remained relatively calm, sighs, trying not to fall into the spell of their worries.

“Just the Cavern,” he reminds them as he pries himself out of his spot on the couch, wedged between Beth and Negan.

The other three sigh.

“Let’s see how long you’ll be sayin’ that,” Beth smirks, following suit and getting to her feet.

Even with the newfound space on his side, Negan doesn’t budge, staying with his thigh pressed against Rick’s for as long as he can, finding a small tranquility in how their knees knock together.

When Terry takes the stage to introduce the band, they all huddle together. “Any words?” Negan asks, sparing glances to each and every one of them, the air nervous and tense.

Dwight clears his throat, speaks up, “Yeah, um, in that B flat Jam, should I do the _doo-doo-de-doo_ or the _doo-diddly-doo_?” Negan laughs when he imitates the bass noises, and Rick feels the way his body goes lax under his hand.

“Do whatever the fuck you want, buddy. Remember, this is about having a kickass time, nothing fucking else.”

Beth rolls her eyes but joins the laughter that has spread within the group. “This is about kicking some _FUCKING ASS!!_ _”_ She corrects, voice building volume as the rest of them whoop and holler along with her hype.

They hear the announcement Terry makes from the stage, (“Without further ado, I’d like to announce the main act of the night, the most talked about blues group in Austin- _Hell,_ the most talked about group in Travis muthafuckin’ county! Ladies… Gentlemen… people… give it up for The Saviors!”) and the words make them all squirm in excitement, jumping up and down with shrill looks in their faces.

“Hands in, hands in!!” Beth commands, and they all comply.

“Saviors on three; One, two, three-”

_“SAVIORS!!!!”_

_“LETS FUCKING DO IT!!_ _”_ Negan shouts as he goes to strap on his guitar.

Everyone exchanges hugs and kisses and final words of encouragement in record time.

Negan pulls Rick into a tight hug, his guitar sandwiched between their bodies. Rick pulls away enough to get a quick kiss, then says, “You've got this one in the bag, I already know it.”

Negan just smiles, soft and warm, making the world spin that much slower, time leaking out slowly like the languid drip-drop off of a rusty, old faucet head. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” He says, then pulls away completely, shoving him lightly in the direction of the stage where everyone has run off to, “Now go!”

-

The show at The Cavern is the complete polar opposite of their show at The Pig.

They’re welcomed by the crowd with open arms almost immediately, screams and shrieks of joy and excitement accompanying every note sung or played against any beat.

The Saviors finally get a real show, a show where they’re the main act, and where people actually want to listen and see the kind of music they play and enjoy it as well. It's not some crazy, deadbeat gig at a dive bar where Beth gets harassed and ridiculed, or a lame set at some sort of deli cafe, where they're forced to play acoustically in a sixty-four square foot space. It's  _their_ fucking gig, and it feels amazing.

After they’ve finished performing all the songs they had prepared for tonight’s set list, the crowd is still not sated, so they just jam like how they would if they were practicing at Daryl's house.

Beth improvises some words on top of their instrumental, a repetitive string of words that really sticks in your head, and sooner than later, she’s got the crowd repeating the words back to her like a mantra.

Negan doesn’t know how long that jam goes on, but when it ends, it feels like a completely different day had just begun or like he had just woken up from a crazy, five hour nap.

They leave the stage, pumped with adrenaline, coated in sweat, and showered in applause to meet with Rick and Sherry and Terry backstage.

“That was so great,” Sherry comments, her excitement clear in her eager eyes, though her tone is the same smooth, lulling rock, “I felt it, I felt it so much. Just like how I had sensed and absorbed all the negative energies at The Pig, I absorbed these energies- but these were much more jovial, but still very intense.”

Nearly everyone quirks an eyebrow at her remark, but Dwight just puts a sweaty arm around her, saying, “Thanks, babe, I felt ‘em, too.”

Negan turns to Rick.

Just like Negan, Rick is smiling so hard the apples of his cheeks look like they might burst, but there’s a hint of smugness to the boy’s grin.

“Knew you could do it,” Is all he says through his stretched lips.

Negan smirks, pulling him in for another hug. He says nothing, feeling as though the vastness of his gratitude could not be put into words. He just kisses him hard and lingering, relieving himself of some of his hearty adrenaline until a voice pulls him out of his trance.

“Hey, Negan, ya’ fool, I said get ya’ ass over here!” Comes Terry. Negan looks over and sees where he stands with Beth and Dwight and Daryl, who he must’ve also called over, “Leave some of that honey for the bees, my brotha.”

Rick laughs, cheeks a splotchy red, and pulls away.

Negan goes with the rest of the band and Terry leads them to a separate green room, a room used mostly for storage of backup equipment and snacks and other miscellaneous doodads.

He vaguely wonders why in the hell Terry is taking them here, figures maybe he should’ve asked, but then he sees who’s in the fucking green room and every thought in his jittery mind goes poof and vanishes thin in the air.

“Y’all this the fella who got Y'all the gig. What you say your name was again, sonny? Harry?”

“Oh my God,” Beth murmurs, mostly to herself at first when she sees the dark-skinned man standing before them, “Oh my fucking God, Terry, you don’t know who he fucking _is?”_

“Hey now, you ain’t gotta use that tone with me, little lady. I’m goin’ on fifty, I’s got a lots to think about now. Of course I know who this is, this the cat who got yous the gig!””

The dark-skinned man laughs, “My name’s Gary, y'all. I'm happy to be here, man, I love what you guys are doin’ out there, like… damn. Haven’t heard some white folks play the blues like that since Zeppelin.”

Holy shit… Gary Clark fucking Jr. just compared them to fucking Zeppelin.

“No way,” Daryl says, but it sounds like he hadn’t meant to say it aloud, “We’re fucking huge fans of you, man.”

“Wait a fucking second-” Negan cuts in, still very much in awe, “Terry, this is the guy who asked for us? _Gary motherfucking Clark?!”_

Gary smiles easily, so full of charm, “I sure am, man, I was at the gig at Tony’s, saw you up there playing Robert Johnson like the man taught you himself.”

Terry makes the connection, “Man, _yous_ Gary Clark?? Yous the fella who wrote _I’ll be ready now! I’ll be ready when my train pulls in.._?”

“Damn,” Gary guffaws at Terry’s singing, so sudden and soulful. He gives Terry a fist bump, “Yeah brotha that’s me but I ain’t sing it like that. Wish I could.”

“Aye, Maybe when yous my age, you’ll be able to. Takes time ‘n experience, is all.”

Gary shrugs, “I don’t know, man,” he looks over at Beth, “that lil’ maniac over there don’t look a day over eighteen and she sound like she could wipe you out clean, forreal.”

Beth blushes a hard red, something Negan’s never seen her do, not even with Daryl, and Terry pulls the girl under his arm, ruffles her hair in a fatherly way, “That’s ‘cause Beth ain’t no human. She a force. A freak. She don’t go by time, brotha, she timeless. You ain’t learn that anywhere, you just born wit it.”

Beth’s speechless, looking up at Gary with googly eyes, and Gary goes on.

“You guys got a drive, man, a real steady blues. That jam was just fuckin’ intense, I can’t even get my band to jam with me like that. I don’t think they got it in them. You ever thought about writing your own tunes?”

The band shares a look amongst themselves, then Dwight says, “It’s not something that’s ever come up, really. I’m sure we’ve all written a song or two, but.. Not together.”

Gary looks shocked. “That’s a damn shame,” he says, then adds, “How’d you guys feel about trying to cut a record? I got a recording studio at my place, y’all can start there, come up with a few ditties, start really workin’ together.”

The Saviors share another look, this time wide eyed and full of childlike fervor.

“Fuck.. I mean, yeah man,” Negan says on behalf of all four of them, because when Gary Clark invites you to his house, you fucking say yes. “Holy shit, fuck yeah, we’d be down as hell.”

Gary gives a satisfied grin, then says to all of them, “All right, y’all, I’ll be sure to give you my stats- and you-” he says, speaking to Negan, “my dude, how _the hell_ did you get that sound? That tone? That _crunch_ _?_   I can never get my SG to sound like that.. Imma need your rig list _ASAP_ _,_ my dude, _ASAP. ”_

-

The lot of them leave the shabby green room and return to the main backstage, where Rick, Sherry, and now Glenn and Maggie reside, chatting it up as they sit together on the couch.

“You see, a woman’s body is like a flower, like a rose,” Negan hears Sherry say to Rick, who gives her a perplexed look. Glenn and Maggie are in their own little bubble, unaware of Sherry’s philosophies. “And a man is a snake. I expect you should know why-”

Negan goes to sit between Glenn (who, as well as Maggie, congratulate him on giving a kick ass show) and Rick, just as Dwight goes to pull Sherry out of conversation.

“Howdy, baby,” Negan greets, sliding an arm around his shoulders.

“Hey,” Rick says, turning into his body, “What did Terry want?”

Negan opens his mouth to explain, but in the chatter of the lively room where Gary Clark now resides with the rest of them, and is attracting lots of attention, he figures maybe now is not the best time, “I’ll tell ya’ later.” He eyes the room, sees lots of people he doesn’t even know- _where the fuck did they come from?_ \- then he adds, “Let’s ditch, I’m hungry. You hungry?”

Rick quirks an eyebrow, “I mean, yeah, but.. We can’t ditch, what about all the equipment?”

Negan has to inch in close to hear him with all the raucous in the room that just seems to keep growing and growing. Once he makes out the boy’s words, he shrugs, “Fuck it! You want ice cream? Fuck, I’d kill for some custard right now.” He stands up from his seat, offers Rick a hand.

Rick takes it reluctantly, looking around the room as if he’s now just noticed all the noise. Negan watches as he does a double take at a certain someone.

“Is that..?”

“Gary Clark Jr.? Yeah.” Negan leads him towards an exit, “I’ll explain in a second.”

They get into Negan's van and head on down the highway, making their way towards a custard shop on the other side of the city.

“What's the difference between custard and ice cream?” Rick asks, thinking aloud.

Negan shrugs, “Fuck if I know… Ice creams for hot summer days and custard is for hot summer days where you just had a fucking kick ass show at the Cavern and met Gary Clark fucking Jr. but just want to let loose with your boyfriend.”

Rick rolls his eyes, “I'm still waitin’ on that explanation.”

“Hold your horses, cowboy, you’ll get it,” he smirks, “You’ll get it as soon as I get my custard.”

Once they get to the shop, Rick makes sure to rush Negan, who is so diligently assessing each and every flavor of custard at his selection, just to get on Rick's last nerve.

“You're a real pain in my ass, you know that? ..Spent ten minutes in there so you could pick vanilla of all flavors,” Rick says around two scoops of chocolate fudge brownie custard, they hop into the van, “Now you better spill.”

“So Gary's the one who got us the gig, said he loved our sound, and he wants us to cut our own record,” Negan says casually, “Said he'd be down to work with us, if we were down.”

“Cut a record as in your own songs? And _Gary?_ You guys are on a first name basis now?”

“Well yeah, I guess. He's just a dude, nevermind the fact he brought blues back from the dead… This vanilla is really good.”

“How are you not freaking out right now?” Rick asks. Negan turns and sees how his jaw hangs slightly, how the custard in his cone starts to drips down towards his hand.

“I don't know, I guess it hasn't hit me yet,” Negan shrugs, “I’m a simple kind of man. Just need my music.. and you.” He takes another lick from his cone, “Hell, and maybe some fucking custard every once in awhile.”

Rick shakes his head in awe, looking at Negan like he's a red star in the sky. Ultimately he extends his hand, tipping his cone towards Negan's mouth, “Want some of mine?”

“Thought you'd never ask,” Negan's says before he makes a dent in the boy’s desert, “Holy fuck, that’s good.”

Rick watches the way he licks his lips clean, tongue darting out to the corners of his mouth. He’s a picture of sweaty, stringy hair, flushed cheeks, and pretty eyes smudged so lazily in smokey black; a picture of effortless, unaware beauty.

Negan runs a hand through his hair, buckles up, and puts the key in the ignition, _“Baby, let’s cruise away from hereee,”_ he sings horribly as they pull out of the parking lot, only one hand on the steering wheel.

Rick laughs, messing with the radio stations, trying to find something good.

Turns out the signal to Negan’s favorite oldies station was never shot, but the station itself had been shut down, much to Negan’s dismay.

When Rick lands on some college radio station that’s playing a moderately funky indie tune he doesn’t know, he gives up and just leaves it there. Negan doesn’t complain, the song’s pretty catchy, it turns out.

There’s a long break for the next song, and then a familiar riff sounds.

 _“What the fuck?!”_ Negan cries, swerving into the nearest lot and parking the car frantically, the rigid motions making Rick’s body jerk in every urgent direction.

Then Negan’s calm, an attentive ear tilted towards the radio.

Rick guffaws, slightly annoyed, but mostly curious, “What the hell was that for??”

“I’ve never heard this song on the radio before.” He explains quickly, not wanting to interrupt the song more than he has to, “This is my favorite song off _Zeppelin I_ _._ ”

Rick just listens to the song, or really, watches Negan listen to the song and all its slow, droning, squealing sex appeal.

_You know you shook me, baby._

_You shook me all night long._

_You shook me so hard, baby._

_Baby, baby, please come home._

Negan always talks about how certain songs really get him in the groin, how a certain lyric or wail or lick will just _"_ _turn him on like a damn lightswitch."_ , as simple and dirty as that, but Rick could never relate.

Not until now.

Now, after hearing _that_ voice saying _those_ words with Negan sitting so close yet so very fucking far away from him, he can only think of one thing- well, two things:

His dick, and Negan.

The song comes to an end much quicker than Rick would’ve preferred, but even after it fades away into a radio jockey’s quasi-joyous voice announcing whatever is on their minds, the thick, sexual cloud still sits heavy above Rick’s head.

“Fuck, that’s a good song. Zeppelin never does me wrong, man.” Negan’s wearing a giant grin, still holding onto that cone, looking at Rick like he’s responsible for every good thing in his life, and all Rick wants to do is take off all their clothes and ride him like a fucking bus.

He bites down on his lips, squirming in his seat as the front of his jeans grows tighter as the time ticks on.

“You ever fucked in a car?”

Negan’s brows furrow together for a second, just a quick pulse of confusion, before he answers easily, “Yeah, occasionally… Shit happens.. Haven’t done that shit in a while though, not since fuckin’ high school. You?”

Rick sees as Negan seems to catch on with his intentions, his eyes growing darker under all the harsh, orangey street lights that cast their glare from far away corners.

Rick shakes his head, simple and slow, “Nope.”

Negan seems honestly taken aback by that revelation, his dark stare lighting up with amusement, “Never?”

Rick rolls down his window, chucks his cone, “Never.”

Then he’s unbuttoning his shirt, a brown button-up he’d brought home from his Mom’s house- a nice but casual change from his everyday t-shirt ensembles.

When he gets it open, he moves into Negan’s lap, thanking whatever higher power that’s out there for the newfound grace that had been suddenly and momentarily bestowed upon him, because if it were any other day, he would’ve accidentally honked the horn with his ass or bumped his head on the roof of the van. Not today, though, for some holy reason.

Negan throws his own cone off to the side, freeing his hands for the sole purpose of being able to put them on Rick.

He gets his hands on the boy’s hips, grazing his skin with reverence so deep it’s nearly tangible in his touch, so deep it’s etched in every faint line in his face.

“You’re beautiful,” Negan tells him, saying the words as if it pains him. He shakes his head, “So fucking beautiful.”

His hands slide down the smooth planes of Rick’s skin, along all the dips and curves of his body, then back up, until they meet with the sparse smattering of dark, curly hair that lay across his chest.

He leans in to press a soft kiss just above a rosy nipple, and when he lingers, just resting his forehead against Rick’s heartbeat, muted by flesh and bone and blood, Rick holds him in close, tenderly cradling Negan’s head with his hands.

He rests his cheek against Negan’s hair. “I love you,” he says, letting his eyes rest shut.

“I love you, too,” Negan mumbles against his skin, adding, “I couldn’t have done it without you. The show, I mean. Thank you for believing in me. It means so fucking much.”

Rick smiles, “ _I’ll be your mirror_ _,_ right? _Reflect what you are, in case you don't know._ ”

He feels how Negan grins so widely, feels his smooth teeth bare against his skin. “God, I fucking love you,” he laughs softly, punctuating his words with another kiss to his chest- but this one’s a little more risque, the warm, wet sensation of Negan’s touch flicking out against the soft, sensitive skin of his nipple.

Rick hums throatily as he feels Negan’s warm breath breeze against the wet, hardening nub. He pushes his head, coaxing Negan’s mouth back onto his nipple, moaning loudly when the pleasure reoccurs.

Negan moves to slide Rick’s shirt off of him, mouth still latched and working.

“Fuck, you’re so hot doing this,” Rick groans, head tipping back, “ _Oohh,_ I wanna fuck you. Gonna sit on your gorgeous fucking cock and make you come so hard, baby.”

“ _Ho-ly shit_ _,_ Rick fucking Grimes,” Negan gasps, finally leaving Rick’s nipples and looking up at the boy with a lascivious smirk, so very entertained, “That’s a whole lotta talk comin’ outta that dirty little gorgeous mouth of yours. But I just gotta know, baby, are you a man of your word?”

He brings two fingers just below Rick’s pouty, lower lip, suggestive in their placement. He watches as Rick’s lips twitch in a smirk, a devilish look filling his eyes. Then he takes Negan’s fingers into his mouth, working them nice and slow.

When he pulls away, it’s with an exaggerated pop, and Negan chuckles, spurring him on, “Mmm, fuck me, baby. Fuckin’ give it to Daddy.”

Rick rolls his eyes, but doesn’t hesitate to start stripping even further, “Shut the hell up.”

Negan cackles, following Rick’s lead and getting naked as well, which is hard as fuck when you’ve got someone all up in your lap, but Rick is cute, so he doesn’t complain… at least not that much.

“You got a condom?” Negan asks after he’s finished stretching Rick open with a rationed amount of close to expired lube he found in the glovebox, aside a box of _very_ expired condoms.

He really hasn’t fucked in his van in years.

Rick shakes his head, “Wanna feel you inside me. Want you to come inside me.” He looks awfully needy, skin tinted red with desperation and arousal, sweat starting to separate his hair into limp, stringy curls.

“You sure?” Negan asks patiently.

Rick seems to come back to earth just for a moment, “You’re the only person I’ve ever done this with. I’m clean, are you?”

Negan tries not to dwell too long on his words. _You’re the only person I’ve ever done this with._ Why does that make his heart want to burst right against his chest? When did he become such a fucking sap?

“Yeah,” he answers truthfully, suddenly becoming a little too lost in the blue of Rick’s eyes, “Yeah, I’m clean.”

“Okay,” Rick nods, “I trust you.”

Negan lines himself up with Rick, waits with an assload of patience as Rick sinks slowly down onto his length, letting his body adjust, his hips twitching with the urge to just fuck up into his tight, lush hole.

Rick lets out a choked gasp, when he’s taken all of him in, his thighs resting flush against Negan’s.

“Shit,” he hisses, starting to rock just lightly, “Fuck, baby, you fill me up so good. Feels so damn good.”

Negan bites his lips as Rick’s pace slowly, achingly builds speed, watching as Rick’s own cock lies stiff and angry between their own bellies, every once in awhile gaining friction when it rubs up against their bodies.

“You like that cock, baby? Huh?”

Rick whines, brows furrowing together in pleasure as he nods wildly in answer.

Negan smirks, all too satisfied, but never relentless, even as he fucks up into the boy's ass, “I need that answer, darlin’. Now more than ever.”

 _“Yes!”_ Rick cries, bucking his hips like mad, “Yes, I fucking love it. I love it, I love it, I love _you._ ”

Negan growls, moves his hands to grab two handfuls of Rick’s ass, giving it a harsh spank, “It’s all yours, baby. Use me all you want.”

Rick makes good on that, pushing Negan back into his seat, hands bracing himself on the man's chest.

Negan wraps a fist around the boy’s cock, timing his strokes with the sporadic thrusts and twists of his hips, until it all becomes too much and Rick’s spilling all over Negan’s fist and belly, muffling his cries with Negan’s mouth pressed so roughly against his.

After that, Negan doesn’t last very long, just a few short, stuttery thrusts into Rick’s throbbing hole, and he’s finished, burying his come deep inside the boy.

They stay connected for a while, arms wrapped around each other, cheeks pressed against one another, as they come down from their highs.

When Rick pulls off, Negan’s legs shake uncontrollably, still so unbelievably sensitive.

He watches the come drip out from between Rick’s legs, some of it falling onto the fabric of the seat.

“Shit,” Negan begins, “this was pretty messy, huh?”

Rick nods, giving Negan a face full of  bare ass as he moves back into the passenger seat, “Yeah, you threw your custard on the van floor.”

Negan laughs, giving Rick a pointed look, “Hey, that ain’t the only custard that was thrown tonight, baby.”

Rick shakes his head in disgust, but joins Negan in his laughter, “You really gross me out sometimes, you know that?”

Negan nods, looking so smug, “Oh, I know that.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading! As always, I hope you enjoy and constructive criticism is more than welcome :) <33


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs mentioned in this chapter include:  
> 'Common Man' by David Ruffin  
> 'Hey Baby (Land of The New Rising Sun)' by Jimi Hendrix

It takes a while for all of this good news to finally sink in.

After their show at the Cavern, Negan goes about working his job at the record store with Beth, jamming with the band, and just living at home with Rick every second he can get.

It's ordinary, but special in the way all ordinary things are.

Then one day, when he finally gets the time to take Lucille to the shop for her much needed repairs, something weird happens.

He lays his guitar case onto the counter, unlatches it to unveil the monstrous damage to the technician, and says, “Just do whatever you can, man. I'll pay you however much you need.”

When he's met with silence, he looks up and sees how this man is gawking at him like he's some celebrity.

“Oh shit, man,” the tech manages to choke out, “I was at the show, man, I was at the fucking Cavern!”

Negan's brows furrow together in confusion, “Oh .. how about that.. That's cool, man. Thanks for coming out.”

“Is it true The Saviors are working with Gary Clark?”

“How the hell do you know about that?” Negan asks, a little freaked out.

The guy shrugs, “It's all the talk in the Austin scene, man. You're Negan, right?”

“Yeah.. I am.”

He holds out a hand, offering a shake. “My names Ned, I'm a _huge_ fan.”

Negan shakes his hand, albeit reluctantly.

“Um… now about my guitar,” he says, eager to change the subject.

-

“So some random dude at the guitar repair shop recognized you? Are you sure he hasn't just seen you in the store before?”

“I've never seen that dude in my life!” Negan explains, phone pressed to his ear as he follows the sidewalk back home, “He started asking me shit about Gary, about us working together, and I was just like, how the fuck does he know about this?? It was weird as fuck.”

Negan can hear the smirk in Rick’s voice when he says, “So you're like some celebrity now, huh?”

Negan scoffs, “Don't say that.”

“You realize this was gonna happen sooner or later, right?”

He sighs, rubbing his eyes with the back of his free hand before he remembers he's got makeup on. _“Fuck…"_   He curses, but continues regardless, "I don't know. Guess I didn't think it would be this soon. Or that it would ever happen, really.”

“Well, it's happening… Did you just rub your eyes?”

Negan laughs lightly, “Yeah, I did.”

There's a smile in Rick's voice when he says, “I could tell.”

-

Shit gets weirder when he wakes up the next morning to a phone call from Gary Clark.

“Baby,” Rick voice is tired and gravelly as he shakes Negan's shoulder weakly, “Baby, answer your phone.”

Negan groans, turns into Rick, nuzzling into the boy's neck, “I'll just let it ring.”

Rick doesn't complain, just squeezes his arms tighter around Negan's torso, settling easily.

When it rings again just a few seconds apart from the last call, Rick speaks up again, voice firm and annoyed. “Negan. Answer it.”

Negan sighs, “Fine.” but complies nonetheless.

“Hello?” He greets, admittedly a little grumpy.

“This a bad time? You sound tired …. I don't know why ‘cuz it's noon, but I ain't no judge.”

Negan's brows furrow together, unable to recognize the voice. “Who's this?”

“Gary,” the voice says, “Geez, you really know how to keep a dude grounded.”

For a second, Negan thinks he's dreaming; there's no way he isn't. But Rick's foot brushes against his leg and he's reminded he's awake, and then memories of the Cavern flood his mind.

“Shit, sorry dude,” Negan apologizes, “I just woke up, but it's cool. What'd you want to talk about?”

“Well, I’m back in Austin, so I was just wondering if you were down to record a lil somethin’ at my house,” then he adds, “I already called up the rest of ‘em. They're all down.”

“I'm in,” Negan says immediately, “I just need a few hours to wake up… and your address.”

Gary laughs, “Alright, man, I'll text it to you.”

They say their goodbyes, and Negan returns to Rick, laying his head on his chest like he always does when he wants to be cuddled.

Rick doesn't disappoint, swallowing Negan up with his warm limbs.

“That was the weirdest fucking thing,” Negan mumbles into his chest.

“Who was it?” Rick asks, but he already has a clue.

“It was Gary asking if the band was down to jam in a few hours.”

“I guess our movie date is cancelled then, huh?” Rick asks, but his tone is light and playful.

“Oh shit,” Negan curses, his sleep-muddled brain suddenly remembering their plans, “I can give Gary a rain check.”

Rick scoffs, smiling like a fool at Negan's seriousness, “You are not giving Gary Clark Jr. a rain check. We can go to the movies any other time.”

Negan huffs, “I guess you're right.”

“I know I am.”

After a while, Negan says, warm breath hitting Rick's chest, “Am I really going to Gary Clark Jr.’s house to go jam with my friends? Is this really happening?”

Rick runs his fingers through Negan's dark, bedhead hair, “If you want it to be.”

Negan sighs, thinking if he exhales hard enough, all of his woes will go along with his breath.

“You do want this to be, right?”

“I love music,” Negan begins.

“I know you do,” Rick contends.

“I love music more than anything in this world, you being the only exception. It's been with me for years, even when I didn't know it was there. But.. I've been so happy these past few months.. with you.. just being human… just _living_ _._   I used to want to be this big rockstar, but now, if my legacy just consists of loving you and working at the shop, I'm happy with that. What if that changes? What if fame, or success, or whatever the fuck comes with it, changes me? Changes us.. and what we have?”

Rick plants a soft kiss to his forehead, pulls away, and says with a gentle smile, “You're getting too ahead of yourself, baby. You haven't even gone to Gary's yet, you don't know what's gonna happen. You could cut a really shitty record and stay a cover band, for all we know. Or Gary could get jealous of how good you guys sound and not want to cut the record at all. Or The Saviors could be like the Van Gogh of the blues and not get their recognition in this life. You never know, we could end up living in this apartment together forever, you workin’ at the record store and me at the library until we die at the ripe age of one hundred and two.”

Negan laughs, “Wow, how very fucking positive of you. I like how you think, baby.”

Rick shrugs and joins his laughter, “Just some insight.”

A while later, they get out of bed, parting ways when they've finished getting ready for their day.

“You don't wanna come?” Negan asks Rick when he’s one foot out the door, the keys to his van dangling off his index finger.  He winks, “You could be my good luck charm.”

Rick rolls his eyes fondly, “I could be your Yoko Ono, you mean?”

“Touché.” Negan says, leaning in to kiss him, “I love you.”

Rick kisses him back, “I love you, too.”

Then he's out the door, and Rick's alone, apartment to himself.

Aimlessly, he wanders into his room. It's a place that's nearly become foreign to him since Negan's room is practically his now, too.

It feels like everything is still in the same places, showing signs of living, but from long ago. From the messy swirls that lay pattern on his comforter, to the dirty clothes thrown on his floor. They don't feel like his (and not because half of them are actually Negan's).

He looks to his journal resting idly on his bedside table, pen tucked behind the cover. There's a thin layer of dust already clinging to it, leading it to its fateful death.

Rick gives a small smile.

He has nothing to offer it, he thinks, in regards to his journal.

His life is moving too fast for it all to be captured onto paper as articulately as it well deserves.

A voice in the back of his head tells him, it's not _his_ life that's moving fast, but Negan's; he's just there watching, his own life held on pause until the next fall semester.

He pushes that thought away, tears his eyes off of his journal.

Then he grabs his phone from his pocket, and calls up Glenn, deciding to distract himself with the company of a friend.

“Hey, Rick. What's up?” Glenn greets upon answering.

“Hey, Glenn. You busy today?”

Glenn laughs so lightheartedly, “You wouldn't believe it, man. I'm actually down the street right now, painting your face on the side of a giant brick building.”

“Oh shit,” Rick laughs, troubles leaving him, “No way.”

“Yeah, man! Come on down, I could use some company. Maggie's working a double shift today.”

“I’ll be there in ten.”

Rick pockets his phone and heads out of the apartment, making his way down sixth street and scoping the block for his friend.

He’s hard to miss, as anyone would be when they're spattered in a spectrum of paint colors, using a building as their canvas.

When Glenn spots him, he calls Rick over.

“I’ve already got the sketches down. Come take a look.”

Rick complies, taking in the penciled lines that make up his face, lying on the bright and blank white wall, sun bouncing off the surface and hitting Rick square in the eyes.

He tells himself that's the reason why it's so hard to look at.

Glenn wipes the sweat off his brow, accidentally smudging his skin with soft graphite. “So, uh, what do ya’ think?”

Rick knows he should say something, but he can't.

Why is it so hard to look at his own face? Even harder when it isn't in the mirror?

God, is this how people actually see him?

“What- what did everyone say when.. when you showed them this?”

Glenn looks at him with puzzled eyes, though his gaze is soft and careful, “They loved it, Rick… we've been through this before, man, but I'll tell you again- I'm not much of a painter. I study film. This piece is just as much you as it is me. Heck, it might even be more you. People don't really dig my work most of the time.”

Rick chuckles, but it's more of a bodily reaction, “I like your work, Glenn.”

“I know you do,” Glenn smiles, “you kept my journal.”

Rick smiles back, but still it doesn't meet his eyes. He just can't get it through his head.

“What- Did they tell you what exactly they like about it? Your professor or whoever?”

“Professor Jenner is an asshole, a cold hard realist. You got something shitty with one tiny, valuable asset, he’ll tell you. You got something worth gold with one rickety flaw, he’ll tell you. But he's got a good eye, and that's why I showed him. That, and because I knew I had something worth showing- unlike my other paintings.”

“And he freakin’ loved it, Rick. He _cried_ _,_ the fucker cried. _You_ made him cry… What was the question again?”

“I asked you what he said about it,” Rick tells him, unable to hide the flush of flattery that taints his skin.

“Oh, he said- God, it sounded a lot better when he said it, but he said you were an icon: ‘A picture of the last remnants of childhood and the mourning of innocence.’ He said he thinks a lot of people our age will look at your face and see what they feel going on inside of them. That they'll see themselves.”

Rick's brow knits together. He spares another glance at his own face, staring down at him from where it lives on the bright wall.

“Keep in mind, he was crying and he's old, so it sounded a lot more poetic and wise when he said it.”

Rick clenches his jaw, conflicted, “So my face is helping romanticize the jumbled up fucked-ness of growing up?”

Glenn sighs, “First of all, you sounded too much like Negan when you said that- Second of all, if you choose to look at it that way, then so be it, to each their own … but you're wrong.”

Rick rolls his eyes, though he knows maybe he’s not being as open minded as he could be.

Glenn changes the subject, picking up his sketching pencil so he can go back in and darken his outline, “So The Saviors with Gary Clark, huh? How'd that happen?”

Rick feels a small smile make his mouth twitch, “I'm not too sure myself. Negan barely fills me in on the details. I think he's still tryin’ to process what's happenin’ for them.”

“I can only imagine, man,” Glenn says, “I remember when Negan and Maggie and I went to one of his gigs a couple years back. It was one of the only times I could actually tolerate him… Then he got super drunk and started hitting on Maggie like I wasn't standing right next to him and I had to show him who's boss… Then he started hitting on _me_ and- you know what, I'll just stop there.”

Rick chuckles, “Yeah, I don't wanna know.”

Glenn laughs along and things are light again. “You're good for him. He's good for you.”

Rick nods, smiling,  “I know.”

Glenn gives him a friendly clap on the back, then says, “Let's go get some lunch. Nothing makes me hungrier than drawing your face for four hours.”

-

“Y’all ever heard this song? Beth, I think you’d like this one.” Gary reaches a hand out to turn up the volume of his car stereo.

Negan's riding shotgun while Beth, Daryl, and Dwight are packed together in the back.

A soulful whistle sounds from the speakers, settling into a thick, raspy baritone.

Negan slides his hand along the smooth interior of the car. It's been a long time since he's sat in the luxury of a Mercedes.

Just by the feel and the smell, he's taken back to many long cruises in his Dentist father’s sleek, black coupe, sitting stiffly and carefully, too scared to enjoy the vehicle his father had worked such heavy hours to afford.

 _'Sit back, son. Loosen your shoulders. I work hard so you and your mother can have nice things like this,'_ he’d say, trying to assure his son.

But Negan would never actually relax until he'd turn on the radio, the warm sounds of acoustic folk, usually Cat Stevens- his father's favorite- filling the car.

That was Negan's first sign that music was never going to be just music to him.

“Oh!! I know this one! David Ruffin, the ex-temptation!” Beth cries.

Gary nods, smiles proudly, “Yeah, girl. You got good taste.”

Their chatter brings him back into the current moment, the words of the song Gary’s showing them filling his head and coating his brain like warm, thick honey.

_I have dreamed the dream of every common man, hoping to rise to the top._

_I have sworn by my blood, as your man, my love, that one day- I promise one day your heartache will stop._

_But I never, never, never, never changed._

_I never changed one single grain of sand._

_Oh, thanks to you, baby, for just loving a common man._

Gary whoops, like he's just ran a mile, “Gets me every time, a voice like that.”

Negan nods, slow and deep, feeling the effects of the song as well.

“Practice was good today, y’all… Y’all felt it too, right?” Gary continues.

They all share their words of agreement, and Gary smiles.

“That's good, man, that's important. If I could redo things, I would tell myself to not try so hard to write a few songs. Better one good song than ten shitty ones. Hell, there's a lot of things I wish I could redo. I've learned a hell of a lot by just _watching_ you guys play.”

“Hey that means a lot, man. You ain't too bad yourself,” Daryl says.

Gary notices Negan's silence. It sticks out like a sore thumb against everyone else's excitement. “You guys are good, way good, I ain't gonna lie. I know there's big things in store for you guys, but the hard times ain't over.  In fact, they're just beginning. You still gotta deal with record labels and management and all those  necessary evils. It's tough. I just gotta know if y’all are ready.” He spares a glance at Negan, who’s staring off into the distance ahead of him. “All of y’all.”

“We got this,” Beth says on behalf of all of them. Sensing Negan’s isolation, she picks him out, seeking his approval, “Right, Negan?”

Negan nods slowly, then swallows, saying, “We’re not signing to any labels. Any fuckin’ contracts, or whatever. If we’re any good, we can make it without them.”

Everyone’s silent, and then Gary says, voice careful, “Look, I ain't never heard of no indie blues bands.”

“A lot of people are making it indie these days,” Dwight interjects, “Chance The Rapper just won three Grammys and he's indie.”

Gary shrugs, “Sure, but Chance releases his music through media. Y’all want physical copies, don't you? … And last time I checked, y’all ain't Chance. The kinda music y’all play ain't exactly mainstream.”

“He's got a point,” Beth says to everyone, but mostly Negan, “If we signed with a record label, they'd give us exposure to all the right audiences.”

“They'd change our music to make it appeal to the popular audiences, Beth, you know that,” Negan reasons.

Beth rolls her eyes, growing agitated, “You don't know that for sure, _Negan_ _._ We just have to find the right label.”

“Hey, hey, hey!” Gary calls, raising a hand the same way one would a white flag, “Let's worry about getting this record cut, first of all. The rest y’all can beef out later.”

“Alright.” Negan nods.

“Fine.” Beth says, crossing her arms over her chest.

Gary turns up the music, and Negan sinks into the leather of his seat.

-

Rick's lying on the red vinyl couch in the living room, bare skin sticking to the slick material of the furniture as his t-shirt hitches up his back.

The night has grown from sky blue to deep navy, and with Negan's absence and his day with Glenn having come to an end, Rick was left with an onslaught of boredom, and that- so he tells himself- is why he's lying in his pajamas, cradling a bowl of popcorn to his chest as he watches _Selena_ for the second time that week.

When his phone rings, vibrating in its spot on the coffee table, he jumps up, popcorn flying everywhere.

He curses under his breath, more startled than annoyed, and goes to answer the call.

“Hello?”

“Hey, baby.” Rick softens in that instant. Negan recognizes a tune in his own words and goes on, singing, _“... Can I step into your world a while?”_

Rick rolls his eyes. Negan does that a lot.

“You comin’ home? How was everything at Gary's?”

“Yeah, I’ll be there in ten, cutie,” Rick can hear the smirk in his voice, can also hear when something fades dull into his tone, “Practice was-it was… good.”

“You don't sound so sure about that,” Rick says, gently pressing on the issue.

There's silence on Negan's end. The television helps to bridge the gap.

“Are you watching _Selena_ again?”

Rick grabs the remote, mutes the movie as fast as he can before he responds with a rushed and suspicious “No.”

Negan laughs, because he knows, but decides to let it go. “I’ll see ya’ in a few, baby.”

Negan makes good on that promise, and minutes later, he's walking through the door.

He sees Rick lying long on the couch- covered in popcorn, _Selena_ on the TV- and smirks, letting out a low whistle. “You really love that shirt, huh?”

Rick feels his face scrunch up in confusion before he looks down at his chest and remembers he’s wearing Negan's tattered Nirvana shirt, the one that had shaved a few years off his mother’s life upon her seeing it.

“So what if I do?”

“That ain't a problem, hon.” Rick relishes in the pet name.

Negan goes to sit by Rick, moves the boy’s legs from where they lay and replaces them on his lap.

“So… how was your day?” Rick asks as Negan grabs a handful of popcorn from the bowl the boy holds, suddenly becoming invested in the movie they’ve both seen a hundred times.

“I told ya’, it was good,” Negan says with his mouth full, “It’s really impolite to talk during a movie, don't you know that, baby?”

Rick rolls his eyes, “It’s muted, Negan.”

Negan grabs the remote from Rick’s lap, unmutes the TV, “Not anymore.”

“Stop that,” Rick grumbles, retrieving the remote and returning the TV to its muted state. When Negan still refuses to take his eyes off the screen, Rick sighs, “Why don't you want to talk to me about practice?”

Negan huffs, but still doesn't turn to face him, “Look, I said it was good! Can't you just trust me on that?”

Rick’s brow furrows in confusion and hurt as he searches the side of Negan's face that he can see. “Sorry,” he says quietly, bringing his legs back into himself. “I just wanted to know.”

Negan looks down at his now empty lap, fiddling with his hands like he’s just noticed them and doesn't know what to do with them. “Don't be sorry,” he says, hesitantly looking over at Rick with his skin soaked in guilt, “ _I’m_ sorry. Practice was good, I just.. don't want to talk about it.”

It's the truth. Practice _was_ good. He just can't stop thinking about his Dad. And his Mom. All because of that fuckin’ Mercedes.

It's been so fucking long since he's seen them, he can't help but have his mind wander.

Would they be proud of him if they knew what he was doing right now? Would they apologize for ever doubting him? Would they ever forgive him for leaving without a trace, for causing so much trouble?

What would they think of Rick? What would they think of _him_ _?_ Do they still love him?

Combine those troubles with the whole independent vs. signed-to-a-label dispute that's running between the Saviors, and his mind is left at odds.

Though Rick has no insight on all of Negan's issues, he can still see the storm hidden underneath his skin and rocking behind his eyes.

Even if Negan doesn't want to talk about it, Rick still cares.

He scoots in closer to Negan, burying the gap that's rests between them.

Rick wraps his arms around the man's middle, hooks his chin on his shoulder, the stubble on both of their cheeks scraping together.

All of the tension that wracks Negan's body dissipates slowly under Rick’s alleviating affection.

They're both silent against the quietness of their surroundings, the sounds of the city's life muted against the walls of their apartment, though it can still be heard if an ear was to be pulled- or if either of them cared to pay attention to it, which they don't.

Rick just holds Negan, and Negan lets Rick hold him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading! This one was a little shorter than my usual updates, but that's alright, since I'm just trying to go with the flow of things.  
> I'm excited but also saddened to say this fic will be coming to and end soon, with a sequel to follow. I'm also posting other works, trying to branch out by writing one shots and other chaptered fics in the future.  
> With that being said, subscribe to me to get updates on stuff like that, if you're interested. :)  
> As always, constructive criticism is more than welcome, and I thank you all for all your feedback and kind words. <333


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> songs mentioned in this chapter include:  
> 'Time', 'Great Gig in The Sky', and 'Us and Them' by Pink Floyd  
> honestly, dark side of the moon really is the greatest album of all time.

Rick wakes up to the sound of Negan’s alarm going off on his phone. The room around them is still dim, nearly full pitch black, as the meek light of dawn tries desperately to seep into the thick sponge of the darkness that surrounds them. There’s nearly nothing bustling about, everything is still sleeping, save for the A/C that fights like a brave to ward off the Texas heat. Not even the birds are awake, and if they are, they’re not conscious enough to chirp their tunes.

“Negan,” Rick calls out, voice crunchy like gravel and no louder than a whisper. It sounds deafening at this hour. “Baby, your alarm went off.”

Negan groans, muffled by the pillow his face is stuffed into.

Rick smiles when the man shuffles underneath the covers, moving to lay on his side and face Rick, lying so close they nearly go cross eyed.

“Howdy, partner,” he greets, his voice a rough, low drawl as his tired face lights up with a lazy smile.

“Howdy,” Rick replies quietly, grinning like a fool.

He sends a silent thank you up to whoever’s been listening to his prayers, because _this_ is his Negan. Ever since the Cavern and all those practices at Gary’s with The Saviors, Rick hardly sees this Negan: the goofy, smiley, affectionate Negan. He’ll see glimpses of him on days where mentions of band issues are gone and shoved away to the back of his mind, but lately it seems like those days are rare, and all he gets now is a Negan that’s distant and quiet, like he’s forgotten how to speak.

Having Negan like he is now, all close and teasing, is something he’s going to savor, because he knows it’ll be gone sooner than later. Especially since today is practice day.

Negan pulls him in for a kiss, tangling his fingers in Rick’s sleep mussed curls, fingernails scratching lightly at his scalp in a way that makes the boy melt like putty against him.

Rick deepens the kiss, moving to straddle Negan’s lap. He feels Negan’s already hard length growing even further against his as he rocks slowly against him, the thin layers of their underwear suddenly feeling heavy like wool.

Rick pulls his mouth away from Negan’s, relishes in the desperate whine that leaves the man’s throat in result of it.

Rick slides down his lap and Negan spreads his legs wide in response, wordlessly inviting Rick to settle between him.

“You want me to suck your cock, baby?” Rick asks, locking eyes with a panting Negan as he strips the man of his underwear.

“Fuck yes,” Negan sighs as Rick closes a tight fist around him, eyes still locked on his, so eager and so blue,  " _God,_ yes, I want you to suck my fucking cock.”

“Yeah?” Rick tugs him full and so aggravatingly slow, lips parted as he watches his own actions. Then his hand stops, wrapping loosely around the base of his cock as he presses his lips teasingly against the head, “Show me how much you want it. Fuck my mouth.”

Negan jaw drops just a little as his lips pull into a filthy, open mouthed smirk. “You’re the death of me, Grimes.”

Rick smiles, so full of mischief, and swirls his tongue shamelessly around the head of his cock, plush lips pressing softly against it as he speaks, “I’m waiting.”

Without a second to spare, Negan thrusts into his mouth, at first slowly, allowing himself to reel in the sensation, but his motions grow deep and fast soon, and Rick takes it all gratefully.

Negan comes down Rick's throats with sputtered thrusts and Rick swallows it down with no hesitation.

“Fuck,” Negan mutters, sounding pleasantly worn out as he looks down at Rick who's still settles between his legs, “C’mere, baby.”

Rick goes to lay by him without any second thought, and Negan pounces on him with vigor, rolling on top of him. 

Rick giggles happily when Negan pins his arms down over his head.

When Negan feels the bulge poking between his thighs, he grins widely, mischievous eyes raking over the splendors of Rick's face.

“I'll take care of that,” he says, slinking down Rick's thigh.

He slips the boys underwear down his hips, and gets a rough hand around his leaking cock. Negan’s just about to start stroking him when his phone sounds again, his second alarm going off.

“Fuck,” Negan sighs, grabbing his phone off the nightstand. “I’m gonna be late,” he says when he sees the time.

“You can afford to be a little late,” Rick reasons, trying to make his voice as irresistible as possible. He nods towards his lap, “You're not gonna leave me like this, are you?”

Negan looks down at Rick's cock, lying fat and angry against the pale skin of his abdomen. He looks utterly conflicted, but in the end he just pulls the boys underwear back up, giving Rick an apologetic look.

“I’ve gotta be there on time, baby, I'm sorry. We've got so much to fuckin’ do. Gotta get the last few songs recorded before the end of this week.”

Rick's nods, face falling. “I still haven't heard any of those songs,” he tries to make his voice light and teasing as he pastes on a small smirk, but there's an underlying layer of tension there that even he himself can hear.

“You'll hear them when everyone else hears em, hon’. I promise ya.”

Rick tries not to think about how Negan has hardly been showing him anything- not just songs- these past couple of weeks, and instead watches as Negan rushes to get dressed.

“I'll see you later, baby,” Negan says, going to give Rick a quick peck on the lips.

“When's later?” Rick asks, because he just wants to know.

Negan shrugs, “I'm not sure. I’ll text you.”

“Okay,” Rick says, “I love you.” His voice sounds like a plea.

“I love you, too,” Negan says.

Rick listens to the sounds of him leaving, sighs when he hears the front door clicking locked and then being swung shut.

His cock still aches, despite how it's lost some of its gusto.

He slips his boxers off completely, tossing them to a side and wrapping a hand around himself.

He closes his eyes, imagining his hand is Negan's, stroking him to completion. If he tries hard enough, he can hear the man's voice ringing dirty and then sweet in his ears, murmuring tenderly into his skin.

He comes with a cry that nearly rings out in the emptiness of the small apartment, spilling hot against his belly and even on his chest.

As his lungs heaves and his high settles down, an overwhelming wave of sadness suddenly crashes over his entire spirit.

If he had known that today would be the last day Negan would ever touch him, as brief as that touching was, he would've begged the man to stay with him, even if it could only be for a few minutes more.

-

There's something going on between Beth and Gary, and Negan's not sure if he approves. He's pretty sure Gary is married and has a kid, and he's not particularly fond of having Daryl mope around like a kicked puppy while he's forced to watch their obviously flirty interactions.

Daryl's recording his drum track for one of their songs when he just stands up and walks out. “Need a smoke,” he grumbles to a confused Gary who sits with Beth ,who's glued to his side, in the mixing booth.

“Alright man,” Gary says carefully into the receiver, “But do it outside, please. I don't want that shit goin’ through the vents. I got a baby.”

Daryl nods and leaves the room. Negan follows him into Gary's backyard porch, sitting next to him at the patio table that looks way too luxurious to have two dirty looking rock n' roll motherfuckers like Negan and Daryl seated at it. Shit, Negan didn't even shower today, just up and left everything to be here.

“You tryna bum a smoke?” Daryl asks, popping a cigarette between his lips.

Negan shakes his head, grabbing his own joint from his jacket pocket. He pats himself down, holding the joint between his lips as he searches for his lighter.

“You got a light?” Negan asks when he's given up his search.

Daryl nods calmly and sparks him up, doing the same to himself.

After a few puffs have left both of their mouths, Negan speaks up.

“I'm gonna take a wild fuckin' guess you didn't tell Beth you loved her?”

Daryl stiffens, his motions of puff-and-blow stilling for just a second before they resume. “No, I didn't,” he says.

“Why?”

“Didn't feel right. Timing didn't feel right,” he tells him, “I was waiting for the right time.”

“There's never a right time,” Negan says, “you just say it when you feel it.”

Daryl ashes his cigarette on his worn boot, “Yeah, well it's too late for that. She doesn't care anymore if I love her or not.”

Negan let's out a cloud of skunky air, “It’ll all work itself out, man.”

A silence falls between them and they just continue smoking, staring out at the vast green expanse of Gary's backyard as the sun falls down past the line of the earth's horizon.

All the colors and the beauty reminds him of Rick, and he's debating whether or not he should confide in Daryl his problems and his stresses (usually that's something he'd talk about with Beth), when Dwight comes and joins the both of them.

“Those two were fuckin’ disgusting me,” Dwight says, “Is that skunk? Dude, pass it.”

-

Rick is still lying in Negan's bed after an indiscernible amount of time.

He's staring up at the blank ceiling, letting his thoughts stew in his head, when suddenly he gets these words strung together in his head.

Before he knows it, he's on his feet, walking over to his room as naked as the day he was born, save for the cum that's dried onto his skin.

He grabs his journal, the dust on its cover clinging to his sweaty palms as he opens it to a clean page.

He grabs a pen and begins scrawling out a short thing.

_Told you I love you and I mean it_

_When you say that you love me, do you mean it?_

_Your eyes they are weary, wearing my spirit_

_And I lost the love that left me reeling, now._

He tries to make it longer but his brain doesn't allow him, and his mind goes blank as he sits on the floor of his room, staring down at the journal in his lap.

In a fit of frustration, he tears the page from its rungs and wads it up, tossing it across the room.

He watches as it falls pathetically onto the floor, as it rocks gently back and forth until it comes to a calm standstill.

Its presence is almost taunting, and he crawls under the covers of his own bed just so he won't have to look at it anymore.

He lays there until he knows he has to get up and get ready for work.

He showers, skips breakfast, and heads to the library on foot, sweating out every odd feeling and emotion as the sun glares down so intensely onto the top of his head and shoulders.

When he gets out of work, he still hasn't heard from Negan. He tries not to be so disappointed about it as he makes his way home.

It's 8:30 and the sun still has not set, it lays neutral and impartial, easy on the eyes and skin. It's beautiful when it's like this and Rick let's himself enjoy it as his gait slows and his eyes wander about the scenery.

At home, he strips himself down to bare skin as soon as he gets through the door.

He goes to the fridge and pulls out a bottle of water, chugging the whole thing in a matter of seconds and trashing it before he heads into Negan's room in search of a good record to listen to.

Rummaging through the many crates, a famous album cover catches his eye: Pink Floyd’s _Dark Side of The Moon._

The sleeve itself is tattered and worn, the paper soft around the edges, the dark black color peeled off in the corners where the sharp edges have been aged dull and round.

With further examination, Rick finds Negan's handwriting sprawled out on the back side in silver sharpie. _“Best fucking album ever!!!!!!!”_ It reads. Parts of the letters are faded, but Rick is able to piece it together.

He's circled his favorite songs, leaving little comments around each chosen title.

Among those are _Time, Great Gig in The Sky,_ and _Us and Them._

Next to _Time_ it reads “never listen to in front of anyone else cuz you'll cry.”

Next to _Great Gig in The Sky_ it reads “this chick has pipes. Does God still make ppl who sing like this???”

Next to _Us and Them_ it simply reads “soul stopper.”

Rick chuckles, ever amused.

Without any doubts, he puts the record on, dropping the needle on _Time_ first, and then goes to lie in Negan's bed with the record sleeve in his hands, burying his naked body underneath the covers.

The inside of the sleeve has the lyrics to each song printed on it, and Rick follows along with the tune.

There are no lyrics printed for _Great Gig in The Sky_ and Rick discovers it's because there are no words in that song, it's just a woman wailing and howling like she's been struck by some holy spirit.

He thinks about the little memo Negan had sprawled next to the song title.

_Does God still make ppl who sing like this???_

Rick smiles to himself, answering Negan's questions in his head as he thinks, _Yup, Beth Greene._

When the record gets to _Us and Them,_ something in Rick's body nearly shuts down. Maybe not, but that's what it feels like. It feels like something in him has died but will not ever rot or disintegrate. It will just live dormant in him forever.

A tear slips from his eye and treks slowly down his face, slipping down his jaw, daring to seep into his ear.

_Down and out_

_It can't be helped that there's a lot of it about_ _  
_

_With, without_ _  
_

_And who'll deny it's what the fighting's all about?_ _  
_

_Out of the way_ _  
_

_It's a busy day_ _  
_

_I've got things on my mind_ _  
_

_For the want of the price_ _  
_

_Of tea and a slice_ _  
_

_The old man died._

By the end of the song, Rick has fallen asleep.

-

It's nearing midnight when Beth gets a call from her father demanding she be home as soon as possible.

There's still some rhythm tracks that need to be recorded by Daryl and Dwight, so Gary gives Negan the keys to his Mercedes so that he can drive Beth home while he stays and works the booth.

Negan assures him his van will work just fine, but Gary insists, so his fight goes flat.

Beth and Negan hop into the Mercedes and head back into the city where her father's house is.

Negan can't relax, not in this car. It's too… _fancy._ It reminds him of too much. Of riding to baseball practice. Of getting ice cream after a big game. Of Prom night, when his Dad finally caved after Negan had begged him for weeks to let him take Lucille in the coupe.

God, it's times like these where he realizes just how much he loves his shitty clunker of a van.

Beth reaches out to change whatever's playing right now to the classic rock station. Gary’s a fucking millionaire or whatever, so he has satellite radio. Must be nice.

Pink Floyd is playing, and Negan recognizes the way the song makes him feel before he recognizes the actual name of the song. It makes him feel like his soul has stopped. Stopped what, who knows?

“Love this song,” Beth says, her words carrying much more depth with the frankness of her voice.

Negan nods his head, “It kinda.. makes everything just stop. Or go slower.”

Beth nods and they go silent, listening to the song reverently. It's the most serious they've ever been around each other.

“You know Pink Floyd meant for this album to be listened to as just one big song? Not in parts, just one huge track.”

Beth smiles, rolls her eyes, “Yes, I know. You tell me every time any song off _Dark Side of The Moon_ plays.”

A small smile reaches his lips, “Just thought that was cool.”

The night, or really, the early morning passes by them as they travel down the dark and isolate country roads. In the car, the air between Beth and Negan feels thick, like the breath inside someone's closed mouth. It's like it's begging them to talk, to bring up things that need to be said.

So Negan goes on, as blunt as a blow to the head.

“What's going on between you and Gary?”

Beth turns to look at him, but he's staring at the long road outside the windshield, so she goes to do the same.

“Nothing,” she responds blankly, “Nothing's goin’ on between us.”

Negan rolls his eyes, “No point in lying. Everyone knows. Me, Dwight, _Daryl._ ”

Beth shrugs. “So what if there is somethin’?”

“Beth, he has a wife and a kid. And you’re _seven-fucking-teen!_ He's like thirty!”

“We’re _just friends_ _!_ Okay? Nothing's goin’ to happen… Not even if one or both of us wants it to.”

“You better fuckin’ say that,” Negan grumbles. After a moment goes by, he adds, a touch gentler, “Daryl didn't tell you, did he?” He already knows the answer to the question.

Beth whips her head towards Negan again, “Tell me what?”

“That he loves you.”

“He-he loves me?”

“Mhm,” Negan says.

“ _Loves_ me?” Beth says, like she's making sure.

“Mhm.”

Beth goes silent, turning to face forwards, jaw slightly dropped. “He loves me..” she says to herself, like she can't grasp it.

“That fucker!” She exclaims a moment later, “Why the fuck didn't he tell me??!”

He shrugs, says, “He's afraid.” and he thinks he understands Daryl's fear now more than ever.

Beth sighs.

-

Rick’s dreaming. He doesn't know it, but he's dreaming. It all feels so real, though.

In his dream, he's lying in Negan's bed, sleeping- _Dark Side of The Moon_ having just finished.

A soft pressure shakes him awake, and when he opens his sleepy eyes, he sees Negan, face lit up by the warm light that seeps through the curtains, smiling down at Rick so warmly with his eyes rimmed black and smudgey, filled in with bright white and irises the color of whiskey

He sees the sleeve of the album lying beside Rick in bed, and he smiles. He picks it up, examining it lightly, and then says, face still so sweet, “You know, Pink Floyd meant for this album to be listened to as just one big song. Not in parts, just one huge track.”

“Really?” Rick smiles, honestly intrigued. He hmphs thoughtfully, “Kind of like life, huh? One big thing.. but people like to look at it as if it's in bits and pieces.”

“Yeah,” Negan says softly, “Exactly.”

Then Rick wakes up, this time for real, and the room is so dark and black, he can't see an inch in front of him. There's no noise filling the air, save for his own breathing. Not even the A/C hums.

There's no Negan in front of him, or behind him, or around him.

He checks the time on his phone, and it blinds him as it reads 1:17 a.m.

Why hasn't Negan called him? Or texted him?

Panic strikes his body as he begins to think the worst, his thumbs working overtime as he pulls up the phone app and begins dialing Negan's number.

He's just about to press call, when he hears the front door open and then shut.

“Negan, is that you?” He calls out hurriedly.

“Yeah, baby, it's me,” comes Negan's voice as he walks into his room. He sounds tired.

Rick watches as he kicks off his boots and strips himself down to his boxers before climbing into bed besides Rick.

He sees the record sleeve lying between them and picks it up, checking which album it is. When he sees it's _Dark Side of The Moon_ , something in his eyes goes hollow.

He stares at it for a moment longer, and then tosses it carelessly to the floor beside him.

“Goodnight,” Negan says tersely before he turns his back to Rick, nestling further into the bed.

Rick's brows furrow in confusion.

What did he do wrong? Was Negan mad at him because he listened to his fucking Pink Floyd record? That couldn't be it.

But, in the silent darkness of the room, he finds he's too afraid to confront the man's cold shoulder. So he let's it be.

He places a tender hand on Negan's bicep, not squeezing or grasping or truly filling the gap between them- just touching.

“Goodnight,” he says quietly.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun fact: that lil ditty Rick wrote is actually lyrics to a song that I wrote for this band I'm in. i thought it fit the situation lmao shameless self promo.
> 
> thank you all for reading :) as always, constructive criticism is more than welcome.  
> follow me on spotify (leeyumpain), for the playlist ive created solely for this fic.  
> follow me on tumblr (hourgla) for music stuff n like... a sprinkle of twd and them some other weird shit.  
> u guys rock <3


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh my god. i seriously did not intend for this to be the last chapter when i started writing it, but thats just the way it turned out and honestly im still like in shock i cant believe i FINISHED THIS FUCKING FIC oh my god.  
> well technically its not REALLY done, i plan on adding an epilogue.  
> anyways,  
> Songs mentioned in this chapter include:  
> 'I'll Try Anything Once' by The Strokes

“Have you ever been… cheated on?” Rick asks Negan. His voice is hesitant and mild.

They're in the living room, sitting side by side so clinically on that red vinyl couch, as if they were just two strangers in a waiting room.

Negan has only been home for no more than ten minutes.

It's close to two in the morning.

Rick had stayed up watching TV, unadmittedly waiting, like he always does, for his boyfriend to come home.

Usually, when Negan walks through the door, having been stowed away at Gary's house for the entire day, he'll spare Rick a glance and then say, “I’m gonna go to bed.” Maybe he'd tack on a _baby_ or a _honey_ if he was feeling particularly generous with his affections that day.

The name itself sounds like a taunt in Rick's ears now, the sweetness having gone sour.

Today though, Negan walks through the door and takes a look at Rick, gaze lingering longer than usual as he bore into those blue eyes that just get bluer and bluer everyday. Then he went to go sit stiffly by Rick, who's mind was sent into a frenzy of nerves, but mostly curiosity.

Things were silent until Rick had spoken up.

Negan swallows, then says, “No.”

Rick pauses, nods, then asks, “Have you ever cheated on someone?”

There's a long break, and Rick thinks Negan won't answer, until he says, hesitantly, “Yes.”

Rick feels his chest cave, “Who?”

“Lucille.”

“Why?”

He sighs, “I don't want to talk about it.”

_“Why?”_

“Because,” Negan begins harshly, but then it dissipates into something more like shame, “we were- we were growing apart.”

 _Like us_ , Rick thinks briefly, but then expels the thought. They're not growing apart, they haven't even been together long enough to have grown significantly.

But there is something wrong- and they're both too afraid to sweep it out from under the rug. Whatever it may be.

“I'm gonna go to bed,” Negan says then.

“Okay,” Rick says, voice barely above a whisper. He stares hopelessly at the ground and nowhere else as Negan heads to his room, closing the door behind him.

Rick goes to sleep later on in his own bed, by himself.

He doesn't wait up for Negan anymore after that night.

-

As the tension between them thickens, Rick's mind starts to race and wander.

It's like a new found itch has spawned itself right underneath his skin, and he can’t scratch deep enough to undo it, to pick it out.

(In reality it's just sunburn. Rick takes a lot of walks now with his free time, and with his pale, unguarded skin against the potent rays of the July sun, it's inevitable.)

Everything, every single aspect of his life is now something he can't grasp. From Negan to school, to the more abstract things like love and timing and destiny. Yeah, it’s ridiculous.

Rick doesn't do good with loneliness and free time. It gives his brain too much leeway to overcompensate and get up to no good.

His thoughts have always been like a train with no track, if not controlled, and honestly, they’ve never been controlled. Just buffered. Muted.

But lately, it's all been a hassle. He can’t sit still, can’t relax his shoulders, can’t unfurrow his brow, can’t even read more than two lines of words without his head aching. There’s no relief.

He’s asked for more hours at the library, but with the wave of new employees and volunteers looking for a summer job, there’s not much he can be offered.

So he spends more time with Glenn and Maggie, as much as he can without feeling like an intruder. They know about what’s going on with him and Negan, he’s spilled his heart out to them on more than one occasion. Of course, they don’t understand the half of it, but it’s nice to just spit it out, to have someone know you’re hurting so you don’t have to bear the weight of it all.

But then there’s times, like right now, where Rick’s by himself. Well, technically, he’s not by himself, he’s surrounded by the entire city of Austin and his fellow pedestrians, but he’s alone.

He doesn’t know how long he’s been walking. When he took off, the sun was mild and warm, only biting when the clouds trudged out of its way. Now it's relentless and blinding, with an attitude so mean not a cloud or a breeze dare abide by it.

 _Like Negan_ , Rick thinks and he wishes he hadn’t, because now his mind becomes consumed with everything that is the man.

He gets lost, both in his thoughts and in a neighborhood he’s never seen before, full of pretty houses and green grass and old people walking their dogs, all on top of a lush hill that makes his calves burn as he climbs atop it.

He’d like to live somewhere like here in the future, he thinks. With a big tree and a tire swing attached to it, swinging away and thinking about nothing as the warm air skims across his skin- maybe some time in the Spring, when the weather is kind.

When he catches himself in his thoughts, he chuckles. That, he decides, is a true pipe dream: living peacefully and easily, untouched by anything or anyone.

He finds his way out of the neighborhood by following the wave of people that he infers are going downtown to spend the latter part of their day. Once he has a good idea of where he is, he turns onto a familiar street.

He sees the record shop, sees Negan’s van parked in the lot. Vaguely he remembers the day where he had stopped here on his way to class, Terry and The Soul Men having caught his attention with their rendition of an Aaron Neville song. It was the day Negan had asked him out on their first date, and Rick, being a big ol’ weenie, had dubiously turned him down.

It’s that memory that possesses him to go inside the store, to go see Negan. He has no actual plan beyond that.

Once he’s in there, he hears Negan before he actually sees him. He hears his guitar playing. And his laughter.

His eyes scavenge the room for his form, only to spot him over in the corner with a few girls fawning over him as he spills music from the instrument in his hands.

When he finishes playing, there's sparse applause and giddy chuckles and then one of the girls smitten at his side asks, “What was that you just played?”

Negan shrugs, looking positively charming and so undisturbed, the absolute opposite of Rick. “It’s something new we’ve been recording for The Saviors.”

Rick watches as the small crowd bathes Negan with the praise falling from their lips, as Negan soaks it up so gladly.

“Hey, Rick,” Arat says from the counter, having been watching him for some time, “Uh, how can I help you?”

Negan’s head whips up at the drop of Rick’s name.

Rick just can’t stop staring at him. It feels like a kick in his gut when their eyes lock. It takes so much nowadays for Negan to spare him a glance. Rarely do those eyes ever say anything, however. They just sit there and look pretty most of the time.

But right now, they carry a weight to them while they bore into Rick’s, looking almost apologetic.

“I… I was just leavin’,” Rick says, tearing his eyes away from Negan, having lost all the conviction he’d gained when he stepped foot on the store’s parking lot.

When Negan hears Rick say those words, he jumps up from his seat, guitar still in hand as he calls out, “Rick, wait a second!”

“W-what are you doing here?” Negan asks, moving in closer to Rick. His voice is hushed, aware of the people that are watching them curiously.

“I was takin’ a walk. Thought I'd come and see you.”

His eyes study Rick’s face and body. “Is that why you look so burnt? God, how long were you out there?” Negan reaches out hesitantly to press his fingers against the scorched skin of the boy’s cheek. Rick winces at the touch, not having noticed the further damage his skin had acquired.

Still he ignores that question, instead saying the first thing that comes to mind, “You were showing them the songs? Your songs?”

Negan sighs, knowing where this is going, “Yeah, I was.”

Rick swallows, “How come them, but not me?”

“Rick-”

“Answer me, Negan.”

“Look, I don’t wanna fucking do this here,” he says tiredly, “Can we please talk about this later?”

Rick eyes him blankly, “We both know that’s an empty promise.”

Something twitches in Negan’s form, and then he turns to look at Arat, who gives him a look that Rick can’t decode. “I get off work in half an hour,” he tells Rick when he turns to face him again, “We can talk at home… if you want to.”

“Fine,” Rick nods.

When he goes to leave without a word, Negan grabs his hand, urging him to stay in his place. Rick complies reluctantly and Negan eyes him wordlessly, giving him the time to pull away if he decides to before he leans, planting a hesitant kiss on his forehead.

“I’ll see you at home,” Rick says finally, when he finds his voice. And then he leaves the store.

-

Rick's pacing around the small quarters of their living room, awaiting Negan's arrival when something on the coffee table catches his eye.

It’s a notepad, a notepad that’s been lying there since Rick moved in. Rarely do they ever use it and yet they've never bothered to get rid of it.

His nervous feet come to a stop as he picks up the pad, reading over the scrawled notes.

It’s in Negan’s hand writing, fast and untidy, breaking out of the faint lines meant to hold a word's structure, as if he’d frantically jotted this information down while he was taking a call.

_‘El Paso, TX July 25th_

_Houston, TX July 29th_

_Dallas, TX August 2nd_

_San Antonio, TX August 6th….’_

The list goes on, even including a few dates in Arizona and Nevada and California.

Rick feels sick. He knows what these are. They’re tour dates. _Fucking tour dates._

Negan walks through the door no later than that moment to see Rick staring down at the paper in disbelief.

When Rick looks up, he can see the remorse written all over Negan's face.

“What’s this?” Rick all but spits out, tense and beating. It takes every ounce of might in his body not to scream it out, not to sob the words out with snot and saliva and all his weeping feelings of betrayal.

“Rick, I- I was gonna tell you-” Negan starts quietly, but Rick doesn't believe a word he says.

 _“When?"_ His volume starts escalating without his permission, “The same time you were gonna show me all your songs?? When everybody else fucking hears them?!” He slams the notepad down onto the coffee table, a loud and angry thud reverberating into the air. When the sound fades away, it leaves nothing but silence and sadness in the air.

Negan stands there silently like a fool, biting down on the inside of his cheek with his brows furrowed tight. He can't even look up at Rick, and that infuriates the boy just as well as it disheartens him.

“You haven't been showing me anything, Negan,” he says after he's calmed himself with a few deep breaths, “Nothing... and I'm not talking about your music or your tour dates or whatever's going on with the band. I'm talking about everything. _You_ _._ ”

Negan doesn't say anything, and Rick loses his composure again, this time getting up in the man's space, forcing him to just _look_ at Rick. “Why are you acting like this?” He asks, and though his voice is hard there's a gentleness that lies within it, a genuine concern.

However, when Negan still refuses to speak, it goes away.

 _“Huh?!”_ Rick presses on, shoving at Negan’s chest hard enough to make him lose his footing. Still the absent look on his face remains. “You've got no problem acting all happy go lucky with those fucking girls all around you at the record shop, but then the second you come home to me you act like something crawled up your ass and died.”

Another shove pushes the man back a foot or two. “Talk to me!” Rick yells, a few frustrated tears leaking from his eyes, “Why won't you talk to me!”

There's more silence on Negan's part, but now a flush of anger colors his cheeks.

Rick watches the way Negan's jaw clenches and unclenches, how his eyes turn dark and hollow. “It doesn't fucking matter. I could tell you everything, I could spill out my whole fucking heart for you right on the fucking floor, we could play therapist for hours and it still wouldn't do jack shit. Everything would still be the fucking same!”

“You don't know that,” Rick says firmly, despite his instinct to cower underneath Negan's intimidating form.

“But I do.”

Rick's face contorts with hurt. “How can you even _say_ that? How can you be so sure? For God's sake, do you even care about us?”

Negan scoffs, feigning amusement despite his obvious offense, “You don't think I care about us?”

Rick deflates, “Not.. not lately. Not with everything that's been going on.”

Negan laughs and it's evil and sarcastic, chilling Rick to the bone. “You don't know the fucking half, Rick. You've spent your whole life being sheltered by your parents, being everything everyone else but yourself tells you to be! You don't know shit about shit when it comes to what I've fucking been through! I've spent close to a fucking decade just trying to fucking scrape by doing what I love, and I'll spend all the other decades to come doing the same if I have to. You think that's going to change just because- just because I love you?”

Rick goes silent, breath hitching in his chest. He can't help the tears that fall from his eyes. “That's the first time you've told me you loved me in weeks.”

His words banish all the anger from Negan's face, a look of despair taking its place.

“Rick-”

“Forget about it,” Rick manages to get out, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand, “It’s nothing. I'm sorry.”

“It's not _nothing-”_

“Stop.”

Negan obeys, eyeing Rick warily.

Rick sniffles, and then says, breaking the awkward silence that has grown fast, “I’m gonna go to my room.”

Negan doesn't say anything, so Rick goes.

In the privacy of his room and in the comfort of his own bed, Rick falls apart, curling in on himself and sobbing into his pillow.

He's a cocktail of anger and frustration and sorrow, spilling out and staining his sheets with tears and snot and saliva.

Once he's cried himself dry, lying pensive on his side and staring blankly at his room, he realizes he can't stay here.

He's not sure what tells him that, but it's something, like a gust of wind just blew a secret into his ear, whether that wind be intuition or impulse.

He has to leave. Maybe just for a few days, maybe forever. All he knows is he can't be here right now, not under these circumstances.

He grabs his phone from his pocket, shooting Glenn a text that asks if he can crash at his and Maggie's place for tonight.

When Glenn responds with a yes, he gets to packing a few things, just some essentials. His mind is racing, nerves running high at the thought of what he's doing. He figures on the walk to Glenn's he’ll have enough time to clear his head and stop at a convenience store for anything else he might need.

He's clearing his bag to make room for its new contents when he finds his college ID, hanging off of his hideously orange University of Texas lanyard.

He looks at his face in the photo, smooth and jovial and very nearly plastic. It's a Rick that's never been hurt, but also a Rick that's never truly loved. A Rick so protected and sheltered, being everything that everyone but himself told him to be. Negan was right.

But that's not him anymore, that boy in the picture.

He chucks his ID off to a random corner in his room, and slings his backpack onto his shoulder.

Rick opens his bedroom door to see Negan standing right outside of it, arm raised and fist extended like he was just about to knock.

He looks surprised and sheepish, but quickly he shakes it off and instead asks, curious and confused, “Where are you going?”

_Shit._

Rick fish mouths, searching for words to say that aren't _‘_ _I’m leaving you.’_ Finally he settles for, “I’m, uh, I’m meeting a friend at the Moody building… for some-something with the communications program.”

Negan eyes him suspiciously.

“We’re gonna go see if we got into the program, that's it, we’re gonna..go…see.”

_Real smooth, Rick._

“What friend?”

“Michonne,” he lies. Shit, she's the only friend he’s made in college other than Glenn and Maggie.

Negan's mouth twists unpleasantly, “Michonne, huh? That girl you've been texting? She cute?”

Rick squints his eyes, realizing his intent, “Michonne and I don't text like _that…_ and how do you know I’ve been texting her?”

“Because you always do it right in fucking front of me! Like you're tryin’ to get me jealous or some shit!”

Rick scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest, “I text her in front of you because I have nothing to hide. Don't have girls flocking all over me while I serenade them like some ridiculous rockstar trying to woo a damn groupie.”

“Oh, fuck off!”

“That's what I was trying to do, asshole,” Rick says, moving past Negan and heading towards the front door. He's got his hand on the knob when Negan calls out.

“Wait, Rick-”

_“What?!”_

Negan sighs, taking his sweet time. “Let me drive you.”

Rick stiffens.

Fuck all if he gets caught in his own lie. “Um, that's alright. I can walk,” he says, suddenly calm.

“You're all burnt. And the sun's still out. It's a short drive, just let me take you.”

Rick bites his lip, weighing his options. Fuck it, he decides. Glenn doesn't live too far from the Moody building. He’ll just let Negan drop him off there and he can walk the rest of the way.

“Okay," he finally agrees.

They board Negan’s van in an awkward silence. It’s a harsh contrast to the many other times they’ve ridden in the van. That alone makes Rick’s heart feel heavy.

He can tell Negan’s getting antsy, can hear the way he gulps hard and rubs his hands nervously against the steering wheel, wearing away the already beaten leather that dresses it.

At the same time, they reach out to turn up the radio. When their fingers touch, they both retract their hands back as if they've accidentally touched a piece of burning ember.

“Shit- Fuck… Sorry.” Negan says.

“It’s okay,” Rick mumbles, putting both of his hands between his thighs.

Negan gulps again, but resumes his duty of turning up the radio. A man’s singing voice sounds, deep and dull and tired, demanding attention with the sparse instrumental his tone occupies. As they stop at a busy red light, Rick finds he may as well give his attention. Boy, does he regret it.

_Ten decisions shape your life._

_You’ll be aware of five about._

_Seven ways to go through school_

_Either you’re noticed or left out_

_Seven ways to get ahead_

_Seven reasons to drop out_

_When I said ‘I can see me in your eyes.’_

_You said ‘I can see you in my bed.’_

_That’s not just friendship that’s romance, too_

_You like music we can dance to._

The words cut through every tender part of him like a hot knife, skin him like some animal that was shot dead on the side of the road. He's reminded of a teasing, poking Negan with a sharp tongue and an even sharper grin, spinning Rick around his room while their favorite music plays. That was them, that was the epitome of their love and joy together.

He feels his lip quivering, feels hot tears teasing at the corners of his mouth and nose. The cars in front of him won’t budge. They’re all stuck in one spot and right now, he wants to be moving. Right now, he doesn’t want to be in this van, sitting next to this man who’s loved him so well but is now becoming a stranger.

“I- I can walk the rest of the way,” Rick says frantically, struggling to unbuckle his seat belt.

“Rick, don’t go,” Negan pleas. Rick thinks he was listening to the song just as much as he was himself.

“I have to.”

“ _No!_ No, you don’t. Please.” Rick sees tears pooling in his eyes. It's like he knows.

“I have to,” Rick repeats, stronger this time, despite how Negan begs further.

-

Negan watches as Rick leaves the van like it’d been set on fire.

He can’t do anything, it’s like he’s paralyzed. He just watches as the boy hurries down the sidewalk, not caring to look back.

Something in him breaks, like a levee, and suddenly he’s crying harder than he can ever remember himself doing.

Sobs wrack his body as he lets his head fall onto the steering wheel, the sad ass fucking song that made Rick cry and leave still playing so easily and unaware.

_Sit me down._

_Shut me up_

_I’ll calm down_

_And I’ll get along with you._

Once the light turns green and the cars in front of him start moving along, Negan doesn’t notice. The cars behind him honk, using the sound to portray their anger and their frustration.

Negan doesn’t hear it.

-

“I can’t do this, Glenn,” Rick says, tears streaming down his face while he’s lying on his back on Glenn and Maggie's pullout couch. He runs his hands through his hair, takes a deep breath to contrast the shallow breaths his sobs had induced.

Glenn and Maggie’s place smells like paint and sunscreen. He tries to let that calm him down.

“Can’t do what?” Glenn asks gently, sitting attentively in the recliner adjacent to where Rick lay.

Rick tries desperately not to cry as he answers with a simple but honest, “Everything,” but he fails as he’s reduced to a puddle of tears.

Glenn goes to his side, sitting on the arm of the couch that resides by Rick’s head and laying a comforting hand on his clothed shoulder. “It’s alright, man. Let it all out.”

God, he didn’t know he still had more in him.

Once he’s calm, he tries again, saying, “I can’t be with Negan right now. Not with everything that’s going on in his life. I need to live my own life. I- I need to do what I want. Focus on myself, and who I am. Because I don’t know who I am without Negan.”

“That’s not good.”

“I know.”

There’s a silent pause, but unlike all the others that have occurred today, this one is peaceful. Glenn’s hand still rubs comforting circles onto his shoulder, painting his skin friendly shades of tranquil and warmth.

“So what are you gonna do?” Glenn asks later.

Rick sighs, then says, “After high school I had planned on taking a year off, just for myself. But my family and Lori had talked me out of it. So I think I’ll do that. Just go back home and stay with my parents for a while.” Sarcastically, he tacks on, “They’ll love that.”

Glenn offers him a small smile, “So… no more University of Texas at Austin?”

Rick shakes his head, returning the kind look, “No more University of Texas at Austin.”

“Wow,” Glenn says, mostly to himself, before adding, “Do you need me to give you a ride back to your parent’s house?”

Rick guffaws, “Glenn, they live six hours away.”

Glenn shrugs, “I like long drives. So does Maggie.”

“I don’t like driving period.”

“Yeah, why’s that? I've noticed I never see you in a car unless you’re riding passenger.”

It’s Rick’s turn to shrug, “I’ve never had anywhere to go that I couldn’t get to by foot.”

“That’s some bull and you know it.”

“Yeah, well, I may also be the worst driver in the state of Texas.”

Glenn laughs a laugh so bubbly and invigorating it's contagious, and Rick joins in.

When they simmer down, Glenn clears his throat, and says much more seriously, “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry about what?” Rick asks, confused.

“About Negan,” he answers, “I feel like… I was sort of responsible for it all in a way. Maggie and I kind of exposed you to him and all of his.. trouble. _”_

Rick smiles. “Don’t be,” he says thoughtfully, “It wasn’t all that bad.”

And it wasn’t. For every ounce of hurt, there was ten tons worth of love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all SO very much for reading. you have no idea how much it means to me, i appreciate and love every single one of you. i dont want to get too sappy right now, ill save that for the epilogue. :)  
> as always, constructive criticism is more than welcome, and I appreciate every kind word every last one of you have ever typed at me. <3333333333


	23. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is it y'all... see ya at the sequel :')
> 
> Songs mentioned in this chapter include:  
> 'It's Too Late' by Carole King

The second Rick stepped out of his van, Negan knew he was gone.

Fuck, he'd been gone long before that.

But now Negan was sure he was not coming back. He just hoped it wasn't forever.

He picked his head up from the steering wheel, all the honking and the cars cutting in front of him having sliced through the thick bubble of his emotional episode.

He wiped his eyes and checked the time. It was early in the evening. Practice was scheduled to be later on in the night, but Negan didn't want to go home right now.

Hopefully Gary wouldn’t mind him being a few hours early.

He put the car in drive and carried on down the road, this time with the radio silent, nothing but the sounds of the city and the rounded hiss of his van cutting through the hot air around it as he verged on the cusp of the speed limit.

Driving in this overpopulated town was good enough of a distraction from every miserable feeling that was boiling underneath Negan’s skin, but as soon as he pulled into the entrance of Gary’s house, entering the keycode he’d been given long ago, and parking besides the black Mercedes he had become well acquainted with, his numbness repealed and once again he was left a mess, uncoiled and unwound.

He thinks about every word he had said to Rick not even an hour ago. He really hadn’t said much to the boy over these past few weeks, had he? And then he goes and says some shit and fucks it all up like a Goddamn idiot.

But he meant it. He meant it all. Every last fucking word. He would _die_ for the music. For his music. For The Savior’s music. There was nothing that could come above it- at least nothing that Negan was well aware of- but in the little time that Negan had come to know Rick, the boy sure came to an equal stance alongside his musical priorities. And anyone who has an inkling of clue as to who Negan is knows that that means a lot; it means the fucking world.

He didn’t regret what he said, but he did regret the harsh way in which he had said it and maybe, he thought, maybe he regretted not saying it sooner.

Once he’s calmed down, reduced to a simmer of sniffles and wet, puffy eyes smeared black in the corners, he gets out of his van and goes to knock on Gary’s door.

He’s a little shocked when Beth answers, but then again, not all that shocked. Beth is stubborn as fuck.

She, on the other hand, looks like she’s staring right into the eyes of an ax wielding maniac. “Wh-what are you doing here?” She asks, blue eyes open wide.

“Practice.” Is all he says, and immediately Beth tilts her head inquisitively, catching the tone in his voice. Then her eyes survey his face, the fear already long gone from her irises, instead replaced with that friendly concern he’s been on the receiving end of many times before.

“You’re not okay,” She says in matter of fact. Her voice is dubious, like she doesn’t want to believe it. “What happened?” She asks suddenly, “What did you do?”

Of course it’s What Did _He_ Do? Negan’s not even surprised anymore, he’s aware of his own stupidity, and apparently at least Beth is, too.

He gives a shallow sigh, “Nothing. Nothing happened.”

“Bull-fucking-shit,” Beth declares, crossing her arms amusedly, “Spill.”

Negan rolls his eyes, his mood swinging into irritation. He really doesn’t need this interrogation right now. “Where the fuck is Gary?” he says in lieu of a response, pushing past Beth to get into the house. He looks around, expecting to see the man cowering in the corner somewhere, ashamed to be found alone with a girl who had just turned eighteen last month, but instead he finds a precious little thing lying belly down on the pristine white carpeting, shoving his fingers into his mouth like they’re the tastiest thing on planet earth.

“He’s out running errands, asked me to watch Zion for him.” Beth replies, following Negan into the living room, where the baby resides.

Zion catches sight of Negan and squeals, muffled only slightly by his attempts to fit his whole fist in his mouth.

Negan feels himself smile, small but genuine, as Zion comes crawling closer to the two of them, voicing his delight with squeals and gurgles. “This little critter might just be the cutest fucking baby I’ve ever seen,” Negan says, “But what the hell kind of a name is Zion?”

“What kind of a name is Negan?”

“... Touché.”

Negan watches as Beth picks Zion up off the floor to carry him in her arms, tries not to think too much about how natural she looks with a baby hanging off her hip. She’s a teenager for Christ’s sake, she shouldn’t be looking so… maternal.

“And Gary just trusted you to watch his kid?” He asks curiously.

“Yeah,” Beth shrugs.

“Where’s his wife? Why did he call you and not her?”

“She’s off in Acapulco for some work,” Beth explains as she rocks the baby attentively, “Modeling life is tough... Isn't it Zion?” Zion goos in response.

Negan raises a suspicious eyebrow, “Does she know you’re here… alone with Gary… watching her child… that she had with Gary…?”

Beth rolls her eyes. “Nicole happens to love me, thank you very fucking much,” she says just as Zion starts fidgeting in her arms, letting out cranky whimpers. “Can you hold him?” She asks Negan, but she’s already putting the baby in his arms, “I need to go make him a bottle.”

And then he’s left carrying a chunky, restless baby with spitty hands, looking up at him with the biggest, brownest doe eyes he’s ever seen, curly hair puffing up carelessly like a cloud atop his head. Yup, Negan thinks, definitely the cutest baby he’s ever seen.

Zion lifts a spit slick hand up, placing it on Negan’s cheek, touching the scratchy stubble that dresses his skin. “Aw, c’mon, little man!” Negan grimaces, but he laughs despite himself. Zion follows along, a chuckle bubbling from his tiny body.

Negan follows Beth into the kitchen, where she’s warming up a bottle of breast milk, actual breast milk belonging to Gary Clark’s supermodel wife. It's the little things that are the weirdest.

“So Nicole trusts you enough to let you in on her stash of organic titty juice, huh?”

“Don’t say titty in front of the baby,” Beth scolds, as if they hadn’t been dropping the f-bomb in front of him just five minutes ago. She takes Zion from his arms, and seats him in his high chair, placing the bottle in his tiny hands. Negan watches as he goes to town on it, losing sight of the world around him as he downs his mother’s milk.

The sight reminds him of his parents, how they'd always regarded him as a happy baby, joyous and always laughing. The kind of baby that cried when other babies cried. He doesn’t know why that thought hurts him so much.

“Beth,” he begins, tearing his eyes away from Zion and towards the girl beside him, “I really don’t like what’s going on between you and Gary. Not at all. Not one damn bit. You’re barely eighteen, you need to be young, date people your age, people you can relate to-”

“How many times do I have to fucking tell you, Negan, there's _nothing going on between me and Gary!”_ She cries exasperatedly.

Negan’s brows furrow in confusion. It sounds like she’s telling the truth. “Then.. why are you here at his house??”

“What do you want me to write you a damn novel? I’m watching Zion!”

“His _kid_ _._ His _baby!_ You're watching his baby!”

“What, like it's hard?”

Negan rolls his eyes because fuck she's such a fucking teenager, “I know there’s something going on, Beth. You can’t lie to me, and you can’t keep this thing going. Gary’s _married_ _._ He has a family.. _.”_ He looks pointedly at Zion, who’s unaware of their woes, too invested in his bottle.

Beth sighs, looking at the infant with a thoughtful gaze, like she knows Negan is right. “There was something going on in the beginning, but it’s nothing now,” She says calmly. “We both agreed we should nip it at the bud, that what was happening between us was just infatuation and it wasn't worth the trouble it could cause. Now we’re just buddies. Nothing more.. but I do give him singing lessons on occasion.”

Negan laughs at that, just a single huff of amused air through his nose.

“And Daryl?”

“He doesn't know that I know he loves me.”

“And why the fuck not?” Negan scoffs.

Beth shrugs, “Let him suffer a little bit more. I'm still not quite over him fucking me over after I so politely gave him the best fuck of his life.”

Negan grimaces at the picture that spawns in his head. “You are ruthless.”

“You're one to talk.”

When Zion has finished his bottle, Beth picks him up and begins burping him.

“So what about you?” She says, “You ain't lookin’ too hot these days. You got any trouble worth gettin’ off your chest?”

“Me? I’m as free as a bird.” Negan tries for casual, but the ache that flutters in his chest at Beth's words just make him sound pitiful.

“Again, bull-fuckin’-shit. I noticed your eyeliner smudged all the way down to your chin the second I opened the front door. You really oughta look in a mirror sometime. Or invest in some waterproof shit.”

“Fuck off,” Negan grumbles. He pulls out his phone with the intention of using his front camera as a mirror, but when he sees his lock screen he just freezes, staring at the picture until the screen fades to black.

It's Rick (of course it is), sitting at the circle table in their kitchen, a mug of coffee clenched in one fist and a large, half eaten banana in the other. His hair is a mess and his t-shirt is stained with toothpaste, and he's looking past the camera at Negan with a glare that borders on murderous, his mouth half full and chewing.

Negan remembers that morning, remembers Rick being called into work extra early one Monday after a weekend of staying up until dawn, listening to records and drinking cheap beer, and vodka mixed with orange juice.

Rick was about to fry up some bacon in hopes to neutralize some of the side effects of his killer hangover, but Negan, with his daunting grin and insatiable need to make Rick's life that much harder, decided to remind him it was “Meatless Monday, Rick. I know you didn't forget now did you, baby?”

Rick just groaned, put the bacon back in the fridge and grabbed a banana while Negan turned on the coffee pot.

However not even a good cup of joe could put Rick in a good mood, and Negan was at the receiving end of his moody glare.

Negan thought he looked so cute with his pouty lips and his hard eyes, and to top it all off, his utterly disheveled and lazy look.

 _I could just take a picture of him right now, staring at me with those icy blue motherfuckers,_ he thought, and so he did, despite Rick's biting protests.

Admittedly, if someone had taken a picture of Negan when he was hung over and looked a mess he would've beat some ass to get that shit deleted, but Rick was not as ferocious. So Negan put it as his lockscreen, much to Rick's dismay, and had kept it ever since.

Rick would see it from time to time, and have an absolute fit, cursing at Negan to change it and delete it, but Negan persevered despite it all.

He loved that picture, it was definitely his favorite out of all he’s taken of the boy, and even on his worst days it always managed to make him laugh, or at least smile.

But today it makes him cry, and Beth eyes him cluelessly, unsure of what to do as his tears stream suddenly down his face and he pockets his phone like the device is Satan itself.

Beth knows there can only be one reason behind it.

“Come here,” she says, gentle and sympathetic, placing Zion back in his seat before she pulls the older man into a hug. Negan goes easily, though with Beth’s small form, it's her that ends up being swallowed in his arms.

Negan doesn’t care. He just takes solace in the way her small hand rubs against his back as his tears soak her head of blonde hair, and how her body is a warm and unharming comfort, almost motherly despite her being juvenile.

“It’s alright,” she mumbles into his shoulder, but the words don’t register with his sorrowful head. “It’ll all be alright.”

-

When nearly two days pass and Negan still hasnt heard from Rick, he starts to worry. He knows they’re in a rough spot right now, but he just wants to know that he’s alright. He knows he’s probably holed up at Glenn and Maggie’s place, or fuck, maybe even Michonne’s place (Good Lord, please don’t let him be at Michonne’s.. whoever she is) but he’d just feel so much more at ease knowing his boyfriend is living and breathing and not dead.

After work, when he comes home to find the apartment quiet and unmoving, he checks Rick’s room, just to make sure his things are all still there, that he hasn’t returned while Negan was away and wiped his room out and left him for real.

Everything is the same as it was yesterday, drawers open and rampaged, a few articles of clothing missing. His backpack no longer sits beside the nightstand, the nightstand is no longer crowned with his journal or his favorite pen. The sight makes him weary, but seeing that it's still in the same shape fills him with a faulty kind of hope that Rick will come back.

He takes a seat on the boy’s bed, just looking around at everything. He remembers when this used to be Glenn’s room. Poor little dude.

Glenn didn’t like him very much and neither did Maggie, but it wasn’t all bad and Negan didn’t mind their distaste towards him. Mostly because they didn’t know him very well. He only showed them the parts of himself that he wanted to be seen, and most of the time he didn’t want to show people the good parts, just the bad. He wanted to see how long they’d stick, how much they’d take.

Glenn had tried to be polite at first, dismissing Negan’s shenanigans with awkward chuckles and forced smiles, but after a while his patience wore thin and he learned how to stand up for himself like the budding man he was. Negan liked that. He liked Glenn: his patience and his innate kindness.

Maggie however, shut shit down since day one. She voiced her disliking towards Negan the second he stepped one toe on the line, and Negan liked that too. She was a ballsy as fuck kind of lady, just what Glenn needed. Just what the world fucking needed.

And Rick… Rick was the one who saw past all of it- all of the biting lines and the menacing grins and his leather-laced facade- and demanded no shit be given. Rick sought the truth, even if he wasn’t ready for it yet. He was soft and gentle, but lined with iron, clothed in steel. He was tenacious: a closeted leader.

Negan loved that. Loved him.

He shook his head, bringing both fists up to rub at his tired eyes when he realized he’d been staring at the wall this whole time. When he sees the skin of his fingers stained black, he grumbles underneath his breath. Rick always laughed whenever he would do that.

Fuck it, he thinks as he pulls out his phone from his jeans pocket, he's gonna call him.

He dials in the number he knows by memory and presses the phone to his ear. Each time a ring passes, gurgling in his ear like death, he grows disheartened. Just as he's sure his call is gonna go to voicemail, a voice greets him.

“Negan…” was all Rick said, voice impassive.

Negan feels his stomach flip unpleasantly. “How’d you know?” He teases, unsure of how to act during times like these, where everything is so sad and serious. A small smirk dresses his lips, but it's only for show, only to make him feel like he isn’t wallowing in his own blood, shit, and tears.

“Little thing called Caller ID,” Rick replies, and again his southern drawl is so untelling.

“So you haven’t blocked my number yet, huh?”

There’s a tense pause, and then, “What do you want, Negan?”

“Rick,” he begins, “I just- I just want to know that you’re okay.”

Another pause, this time longer. “I’m fine.”

“Just fine? Nothing else?”

When Rick doesn’t respond, Negan tries again desperately. “Baby, I miss you. When are you coming home?”

He listens as the boy sighs deeply. “You sound pathetic,” Rick says tiredly, “Callin’ me baby like that’ll fix everything.”

“I’ll call you baby as many times as it takes.”

“You ain’t got enough air in your lungs for that.”

“I got a bunch of other names I can call ya’, not just baby. I got sweetheart, darlin’, honey, cutie, cowboy, cupcake- you remember cupcake, right? Anything you want, Rick. Baby, _a_ _nything_ _._ ”

“Just stop it, Negan,” Rick says, and the way his voice wavers makes Negan go silent. He takes in another breath, shaky but grounding, and continues, “I’m not coming back to the apartment. I’m going back home.”

“But your things-”

“Glenn and Maggie are gonna stop by sometime tomorrow to pick up my things.”

“Everything?”

“Everything.”

“Why can’t you come?” Negan asks indignantly, “Why don't _you_ pick up your stuff? What am I some fuckin’ plague? Do I have fuckin’ cooties or somethin’? C’mon, we can still be friends can't we, Ricky?”

Rick doesn't entertain his teasing tone, not even for a second. “We can't be anything anymore, Negan, it’s too late to-to reconcile. You said it yourself, everything would still be the same… and don't call me Ricky.”

_'It's too late...'_

Negan went blank, staring emptily at the air in front of him like he could see every germ, every speck of dust that contaminated it. His mouth lay slack, his face a mask with no expression.

Then he just laughs, a strung out chuckle that stands stark in the silence he's sharing with Rick over the phone.

“Negan?”

The man only laughed harder, finding the bewilderment in Rick’s tone hilarious, uncontainably so.

On the other side of the line, Rick just listened, enduring Negan’s maniacal fit of laughter with a straight, sorry face.

“My bad,” Negan begins, breath still hitching with giggles. “That just- _fuck_ \- that just-” more laughter, a sharp wheeze that runs hollow, “What you said, it just reminded me of this song.”

Rick still had nothing to say.

Negan giggled some more, then began singing, his voice unsteady with laughter and with something much more pitiful.

_“ And it’s too late, baby, now it’s too late, though we really did try to make it. Something inside has died and I can’t hide and I just can’t fake it, Oh no no. ”_

Rick doesn’t know why he lets him go on for as long as he does, but once he comes back into his own mind, he puts an end to it.

“Negan.”

The man goes quiet, using his silence as a nonverbal form of recognition.

“Glenn and Maggie should be there sometime tomorrow.” Rick reminds him, and then he hangs up.

Negan tosses his phone to the side, crawls further into Rick’s bed. It won’t be here this time tomorrow, he figures, so he buries his face into the pillows, into the comforter and the sheets, trying to suffocate himself with Rick’s scent but he can’t find it. He just smells himself.

He and Rick shared lots of things. Everything mingled. Everything in harmony.

Briefly he wonders if maybe it's himself that smells like Rick, if the boy's scent had swallowed him whole the second he moved into the apartment. When Rick is gone, when all his stuff is gone by tomorrow, how long will it take for the scent to wither away? How long until Negan just smells like himself?

He finds he doesn’t want to know, so he removes himself from those icky thoughts, and sings.

Beth once told him singing is like therapy. “You get it all out with your voice, everything you’re feeling- Good or bad or inbetween. You get it all out and then you’re pure again, ready to be tossed around another time.” That’s what she had said, and Negan tests it out, using the same song he had sung to Rick on the phone.

He sings it until his voice breaks, until every words stings, and when his vocal cords can no longer produce another smooth vibration, he gets up and goes to his room, spending a good chunk of time looking for the album he knows is there.

When he finds it, he puts it on that track, turns it up all the way until every thought in his brain feels like ripples in the water, and the apartment is filled with sound from corner to corner.

He goes back into Rick’s room and lies down on his bed once again, this time with no intention of moving.

Hey, at least now he doesn’t have to worry about a pretty boy in the room down the hall not getting enough sleep because of his loud music.

For once, Negan was trying to be the optimist, but the bright side didn’t feel very fucking bright.

-

“These are his?” Glenn asks incredulously as he snoops through the last box of Rick’s stuff that Negan had handed him. He pulls out a Carole King record and that battered Nirvana t-shirt.

Negan flushes, “Hey man, why don’t you mind your own fuckin’ business? You don’t think Rick desires a little Carole King every once in awhile? A little Nirvana? We could all use a little Nirvana, don’t you agree?”

“I lived with you for two years, dumbass! I’ve _seen_ you wear this damn shirt!”

Negan opens his mouth to defend his honor, but Maggie intervenes.

“Glenn, just put it back in the box,” she says gently, giving Negan a look that’s equal parts sympathetic and knowing.

Negan squirms underneath it.

“Fine,” Glenn murmurs as he does what he’s told. He looks back up at Negan with his jaw clenched and his eyes narrowed almost comically, “You’re lucky Maggie's here, or the only thing that would've stopped me from kicking your ass would’ve been the law.... Maybe not even that.”

Maggie puts a hand on his shoulder, willing him to calm down. “Easy, street fighter,” she says, holding back an amused smirk. Then she turns to Negan much more seriously, “We’ll get everything to him.”

Negan nods, “Thank you.”

They leave with every morsel of evidence that Rick had once existed in the same place as him, and Negan goes back inside.

Rick's room is empty, stripped down to wood flooring and walls- nothing else, except a shitty lamp that came with the apartment, lying useless in the corner.

He looks at it with contempt for a long, hard minute before he goes and picks it up, throwing it across the room with all the might in his body.

He looks at where it now lies in pieces, then to where it once stood.

A piece of crumpled up paper he had not seen before catches his eye, and he picks it up off the ground, smoothing it out with shaky hands.

He sees Rick's handwriting, a short stanza of words. He reads them in his head with a melody that stemmed from nowhere.

He reads it again and again and again.

Then he grabs his guitar, and calls Beth.

“What's up?”

He swallows hard, “I need you to come over and sing something for me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shit.... all i can say is thank all of you guys from the bottom of my heart for reading, for commenting, for leaving kudos. I was so scared of posting this, and if u couldn't tell by the tags, i had no idea what the hell i was doin! but im glad I did it, it's been so much fun and i cant wait to get into the sequel.  
> i also gotta thank sodium_amytal bc if it wasnt for them and their led zeppelin fanfiction, i wouldve never subscribed to their account and saw when they posted 'Shelter From The Storm', which was the first Regan fic I EVER read. That fic started everything man.  
> also, if ur reading this, leave me a comment telling me your favorite song that was featured in this fic, im really curious about that, so let me know if u wanna :)  
> Again, thank you all so freakin much and as always, constructive criticism is more than welcome.  
> :) <333


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